


Something between You and Me

by angelaccountant



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Artist!Derek, Blow Jobs, Bottom Derek, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Human Derek Hale, M/M, Masturbation, POV Derek, POV Stiles, Rimming, Romance, The Hale Family, Top Stiles, bookshop owner!stiles, silly boys falling in love, slightly dom!stiles/sub!derek, takes place in England
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 63,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelaccountant/pseuds/angelaccountant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quickly, Stiles turned around to whisper in the handsome stranger's ear, "Please act with me on this," before giving the man he had only met less than five minutes ago a peck on the cheek and a flirtatious smile. This was so not the way Stiles had planned his day going.</p><p>Or the one where Stiles pretends to be dating Derek to get away from his ex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was supposed to be an ordinary Saturday morning. The sun was up, and the clear sky held hope of a rainless day in the otherwise rainy city of Bath, England. Children were running around and playing tag, one child sprinting about with his red and green colored kite as Derek walked into the opening of the park, blue scarf twirled around his neck way too many times due to his sister's scoffing of "Don't be a baby, brother dearest, it's just a scarf. You'll freeze to death otherwise!" It was barely December. And around 5 degrees out.

Yeah, Derek was totally getting babied by his big sister.

As he rounded the corner of the end of the park, walked past an old couple pushing some children - probably their grandchildren - on a couple of swings, and crossed the busy morning traffic over to his favorite café, Beta's, he couldn't help but to feel like something was different about this day; like it was just right. When he opened the door to the café a bell chimed, signalizing that there was a new costumer.

The café didn't look any different, at least. The walls were still painted in different nuances of soft brown, grey and green, and there were still rough tables made of dark wood, chairs and couches with way to many pillows on them. The whole cafe was still lit up by large sparkle lights that hung on the otherwise dark roof like the branches of an Amazon forest, lighting up the whole room.

Behind the counter where people placed their orders there was an image of a wolf pack painted onto the old wooden wall.

There were four wolves in the painting; the owners had insisted on that.

One had a mixture between light yellow and soft brown fur, laying on a vacant forest ground with distant blue – nearly grey – eyes focused on the full moon in the sky above him, wondering, searching for something. Only Isaac knew what that something was.

The second wolf had dark brown colored fur and eyes almost alike in color as the fur, and its head was resting on top of the first wolf's muzzle with a content look. Halfway on top of the second wolf was the third, and her fur was the complete opposite of her mate's, almost white with hints of weak yellow. Her eyes held almost the same color as her mate's; a dark maroon that seemed to brightly shine in the painting from where she laid half spread on top of her mate, nose resting in the crook of his neck. Derek had thought it was a fitting portrayal of Boyd and Erica's relationship.

The fourth and last wolf in the painting, not everyone could place. Anyone who really looked could recognize the other three wolves as the three owners of the café: Isaac, Boyd and Erica. But the last one, the last one was different.

He stood proud as a leader; a protector of the other wolves. His midnight black fur reflected in the moonlight and bright green eyes shone with a small ring of amber near the irises, keeping a watchful eye over his pack. But the wolf looked lonely, still.

Derek shook his head. He didn't know why the others had insisted that he'd paint himself into their painting as well, after all he wasn't a co-owner of Beta's, simply a good friend. "You're one of our closest friends, Derek, of course we want you there up with us!" Isaac had answered the one time Derek had voiced his thoughts on the matter.

"And besides," Erica had chimed at a later time when Derek had finished painting himself into the picture as their guardian and they were all sitting on the floor cuddled together like the wolves on the picture, just staring at the finished work. “You insisted on painting this beautiful picture which took months, _months_ Derek, of your time to make, for free. You could have spent all that time working on pieces to sell in order to make money for yourself, but you didn’t. It was the least we could do."

Boyd had given a soft sigh in agreement. "And you're family, Derek. Family sticks together," he gestured to the painting, "like a pack." None of the others said anything after that, they just sat in piece with each other for company and looked around at their new café, and at their lives beginning to make sense again.

Derek spared the painting,  _his_  painting, another fond glance before making his way properly into the café, giving a quick smile and a wave to the people he recognized. The weather was gloomy outside, but inside the Beta's it was warm and cozy with just the right amount of people inside, and soft smells of coffee and freshly baked goods stirring in the air.  _Home_ , he thought with a small smile.

He stood in queue for the disk with only a few people before him in the line, and started on the huge task that was taking off his ridiculously well twirled scarf that his sister had put on him this morning. Laura had to get kudos on that: she was an incredible wicked scarf twirler.

Derek hadn't even remembered that they were having breakfast together at his apartment that day, opening the door at seven in the morning in only his boxers and wearing a look that said he would kill whoever had disturbed his beauty sleep. Or at least, that was how Laura had described it, much to Derek's loud and tired protests.

So they cooked and ate together. Or, well… Derek  _tried_  to cook but he burned the toast and may have started a tiny fire in his kitchen, but it was only tiny! (Which was an improvement from the Hale Christmas of 2010, when their mother had forced Derek to help out in the kitchen. That was a complete disaster, but they don't like to mention it.) So after Derek's tiny accident, Laura took over since she was one of the more skilled cooks in his family, like his mother, Talia and his eldest brother, Michael.

So Derek wasn't very skilled in the art of cooking, but his hands had quite the touch when it came to painting, drawing and sculpting. His family and friends had called him an art prodigy ever since he came home from first grade one day when they were supposed to draw something that made them happy, and his parents saw what he had drawn.

Most of the other children had drawn shaky but simple pictures of butterflies, suns and smiley faces in bright colors. He, on the other hand, had drawn a wolf in detail with nuances of grey, standing proudly on top of a cliff overlooking the ocean like it was searching for something.

At first, Derek had been told, his kindergarten teacher had thought that her coworkers were playing a game on her, putting such an art piece into the hands of a seven year old to prank her, but when she tried to take the art piece away from Derek he had screamed and cried and demanded his drawing back in a way only a child could. She'd called her coworkers over to her, and they were just as surprised as she was when they asked if Derek could draw them another pretty picture, and they got a detailed sketch of a lily back, and a modest smile from Derek. So from an early age he and his sketch book were inseparable, and all it took was a piece of paper, a pencil and a small rubber to make Derek content through his childhood.

Now as an adult, Derek had several paintings in museum exhibitions spread across the world, and he had sold enough of his works that he probably didn't need to work again for the rest of his life. Still, he wanted to keep working, to learn new techniques and become a better artist. It was what he lived for, what made him happy, and he was pretty sure he would keep doing it until he couldn’t anymore.

"Derek, helluuuuu. Derek, are you there, mate?"

A familiar voice brought Derek back from his thoughts, and he realized that the queue before him had disappeared. Isaac stood by the disk, waiting for him with a fond gaze.

He shook his head. "Sorry man, I was a bit out of it." Derek walked over to the disk and gave Isaac a fist bump and a grinning smile. He looked around the half-busy café and at the waitresses working there, looking for two particular known faces. "Where are the newlyweds?" Derek asked.

Erica and Boyd's engagement and later marriage hadn't come as a surprise for anyone. They had been head over heels for each other since they were in High School, almost not capable of being separate for seven years until Boyd took the big step and went down on one knee right in the middle of their café on the day of their anniversary, asking Erica for her hand in marriage.

"It was about time," Erica had teased Boyd, "I was beginning to worry that you'd never ask."

"I would have married you after our first date, babe, but I needed to reassure that I could support you in the way you deserve." There had been a moment between them where they gave each other a fond smile, hugging each other long. Derek had almost felt the need to look away from the personal moment to give them some privacy, and when Boyd and Erica started making out like a couple of wild animals, he did turn away because _come on, get a room!_  But his couldn't help his completely soppy grin as Boyd put a golden ring on Erica's finger that day, feeling absolutely ecstatic for his friends.

Isaac gave him a smile and adjusted the apron hanging around his front, with the letter's "KISS THE COOK" painted in bright green colors on the otherwise blue cloth. Derek was very fond of that one. "Oh, they're at the hospital getting an ultrasound. They're hoping to see the baby for the first time. Boyd is completely terrified," Isaac finished with a laugh.

"Yeah, I can imagine," Derek laughed. If he was going to have a baby with the fierce, but loving (though if he mentioned that to Erica she would most likely strangle him in his sleep) Erica he would be terrified too. "Being a father will do that to you, I guess."

Someone made a small "ahem!" behind them, and he could see the people behind him in the line waiting anxiously to get their morning dose of caffeine and some breakfast. He hurried along. "Anyway, remind them to send me a picture, yeah?"

"Of course, mate. Now, what can I get you today? The usual?"

Derek shook his head. "Naah, I'm feeling a bit different today, so I'll think I'll take something else. Do you still have that delicious pecan pie of yours on the menu?"

Isaac nodded and gave him a cheeky grin, "It's the best one in town."

"Yeah, I'll have two slices of that, a croissant and a cup of hot chocolate with cream, please." Isaac scribbled away on his notepad.

"Yeah, yeah that's cool. I'll just bring your food over to your usual spot when it's done."

"Actually," Derek interrupted, "I think I'll eat outside today."

Isaac crooked an eyebrow at that? "Really? You don't usually eat outside, man."

Derek gave him a small smile. "Yeah, just feeling like a change today," he repeated. "I've been having an artist block all week. I don't know what it is, but..." He paused. "But I think it'll help to be outside today." He shook his head thoughtfully. "Just this feeling," he told Isaac and shrugged.

"Sure man, coming right up. But let me check the weather reports first, all right? Don't want your drawings to be soaked with rain outside. I think the weather is good enough that you can sit on the benches right to the entrance." Isaac took out his phone from the back pocket of his phone and made a few swaps with his fingers on the touch screen, bringing up the weather reports for the week. He hummed thoughtfully. "There hasn't been reported any rain lately, so I think you're in the clear man. And there sure isn't going to snow any time soon," he huffed out a laugh, putting his phone back into his back pocket.

Derek laughed with him, starting on the huge job that was twirling his scarf around his neck once again.  _Yeah right, like it was going to snow_ _,_ Derek thought.  _It_ _hadn't snowed in Bath in almost ten years now, why would it start now?_

 "The food will be ready in five."

Derek nodded to Isaac and grabbed a thick blanket from one of the chairs on his way out. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

**************

Stiles was so screwed.

Not the kind of screwed that leaved him glowingly boneless and out of breath with slick release spattered across his stomach or deep inside another man. No, not in that sense at all. Though that way would be much preferred to Stiles at that moment.

The way he was screwed had a much more bitter afterglow.

He was in fact so screwed that he had retorted to drastic measures. 

He was running. (Or jogging, really, because it was eight o'clock in the morning and he hadn't even had his morning coffee yet. Even though he wasn't physically in bad shape by anyone’s standards it was still EIGHT O'CLOCK IN THE FREAKING MORNING and he wasn’t a college student anymore so he really did  _not_  have the energy to do anything productive at that time of day, least not run away from the crime scene like the big wimp he was.) 

"God dammit why did it have to be today," he grumbled breathlessly to himself, making his way through a crowd of people and away from the couple behind him who he knew had seen him flee.

The blue knitted winter hat that he'd gotten as a birthday present from his grandma a few years back was starting to slide slowly off his head, creating a tickling feeling that shuddered down Stiles back, so he hastily took it off and shoved it in the pocket of his grey winter coat with a grunt.

It wasn't like Stiles hadn't expected to ever see Danny again; the town wasn’t that big and they couldn't avoid each other forever, though Stiles sorely tried.

Therefore it was only expected that they might run into each other one day, only Stiles had daydreamed that when that day came he would have a hot boyfriend by his side to introduce to Danny while they had their awkward ex-boyfriend meeting conversation that was bound to happen. And then Danny would realize what a big dick he was for breaking up with Stiles in the first place and beg to get him back, but Stiles wouldn't take him back because he had a much hotter and better boyfriend than Danny, and Danny would have to live with that regret his entire life.

_But_  of course that was only another one of Stiles many daydreams that was never going to happen with his luck in life. So when Stiles saw Danny in front of his favorite news stand for the first time since their break-up, holding hands with a man that seemed to be his boyfriend if the way they were flirting with each other was any indication, Stiles freaked and ran away. But Danny saw him.

So that was why he was slightly jogging (don't judge the man, he still hadn't gotten that coffee yet) straight through a choir that was singing Christmas carols, wincing and shouting behind him "Sorry!" as one nun started falling on top of the other like some weird domino pieces. If he hadn't been running (slightly jogging) he would probably have found the entire picture hilarious: a dozen of nuns laying on top of each other in the middle of the street, their hymn books scattered around them. Ok, scratch that, he still found it hilarious even if he was on the run.

Stiles looked over his shoulder and could spot Danny and his boyfriend helping the scattered nuns to stand.

Stiles rolled his eyes.  _Of course_  Danny would help the poor nuns.

He stopped as the crowd parted and took a look around him for an emergency exit. Stiles was in an open market square decorated with stone tiles and a big grey fountain in the center. Shops of every kind were placed around the edges of the market square creating a cozy look. There were always shops he could hide in, but chances were that Danny would walk in with the luck Stiles had been having that day, so he decided against it. Then there was only one option left.

Stiles had to find a boyfriend, and he had to find one fast.

There were a few people sitting on benches placed around the open area, but most of them were either really old and accompanied by their grandchildren, or couples sitting together and looking disgustingly in love. Stiles sighed. None of them would do for him, so he kept looking. Lots of cafés were open but almost no one was sitting outside, and why would they? The weather was freaking freezing. He couldn't really walk into a café and find someone either, no, it had to be public, on display where Danny could easily see it. He turned around and was about to find the nearest shovel so that he could dig his own grave to hide himself from the humiliation, when he saw him.

Stiles' head felt like it had just experienced a whiplash as he stared at the beautiful man sitting outside in the cold with outdoor clothes and a blanket thrown over his legs, a scarf twirled around his neck way too many times. In his lap he had a huge book with clear paper – probably a sketch book, Stiles guessed – and some pencils lying inside a pencil case on the table in front of him. The man’s focus was on the paper in front of him, and Stiles could see him biting his lip slightly in concentration as his hand moved the pencil over the paper with light movements.

_Perfect_ _,_ Stiles thought.  _He's absolutely perfect._

Stiles ran over to the man sitting by the entrance of a café named Beta's, and stood there awkwardly until the man looked up from his sketchbook and noticed him. Stiles' cheeks flushed from the running and the complete absurdity of the situation.

The man looked Stiles over once before finding his eyes and asking in a polite tone, "Can I help you with something?"

"Yes, you can. Are you single?" Stiles hurried by saying, staring at the stranger.

The man put down his sketchbook on the bench he was sitting on and raised his eyebrows at Stiles. "Excuse me?"

"I said are you single? Yes no?"

The man was clearly surprised over such an abrupt question from a complete stranger, but he gathered himself enough to say, "Yes I am."

Stiles exhaled slowly in relief. "Are you gay?"

The man stood up now, staring at Stiles with his dark eyebrows furrowed in confusion like he was trying to figure out Stiles’ deal.

"Did Isaac put you up to this?" The man sighed and touched his jaw, forehead scorching. "I've told him countless of times, if I want to get laid, I'll get laid myself, I don't need his fucking help."

Stiles gave the handsome man another once-over and grinned. "Yeah, I don't doubt that at all, handsome. I just need to know if you're gay."

Handsome (which was what Stiles was calling the stranger in his mind, because  _hot damn_ ) gave Stiles another stare. "Yes," he said begrudgingly and with a frown that did not fit in well with the rest of the man's outrageously hot appearance.

"Oh thank god." Stiles smiled, relieved, and stepped close enough that he could feel the man’s warm breath on his face. His eyes trailed down to the stranger's lips, gaze fixated. "I'm going to kiss you now, Handsome, and I would prefer it if you didn't hit my pretty face for doing so."

Any protests the man had were muffled by Stiles' lips on his.

Around them it started snowing for the first time in 10 years.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Handsome gave a small cough beside him and then he remembered that oh, this was in fact his bastard ex he was talking to, and Stiles had just basically kidnapped a man without his consent to come play his pretend boyfriend in front of his ex-boyfriend. When had this become Stiles life, really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! First of all, I just have to send out an enormous amount of love to all of you who has comment/given kudos or just read this story so far! I have been completely blown away with all the kind responses I’ve been getting for this story! You are all so very amazing and I treasure all of the response dearly <3  
> NOW, onto this chapter. I am sorry, but I had to make Danny seem a little like a douche, but on the good side: protective!Derek and a whole amount of sterek, fuck yeah! I threw a lot of fluff and just common ridiculousness in there just to make it seem more like the absurd situation it is. Hope you like!

Stiles could feel something small and wet – like raindrops but colder – flicker on his face over and over again, and he made an effort to swat it away with his hands, but when he tried to move the two limbs that were his arms, he found them occupied. One, he found, was fisting in Mr. Ridiculously Handsome's hair, and the other one was on the back of his waist, trailing closer to where Handsome's jacket ended, which happened to be where he came in contact with a patch of soft skin leading down to the man’s holy grail of a butt  _and holy fuck_ Stiles wanted to touch that. Like right now. He hadn’t even seen the man’s backside, but if it were anything alike his front, Stiles would take his chances. Stiles wanted to do so many filthy things to that backside that it could fill out a book longer than his collection of the Lord of the Rings books (the Hobbit included). Oh god, Stiles  _really_  needed to get laid.

He moaned around the lips that were kissing him open – kissing like he was some sort of aphrodisiac which Handsome couldn’t get enough of. And yes, right there and then it sounded like a pretty good plan to stay wrapped around this man for as long as he had breath left in his body (which might be a while because he was a Stilinski and darn those genes were good).

He heard a cough from his left, but he ignored it in favor of the feeling of the ridiculously hot man's lips pressing onto, and licking his way slowly into Stiles' mouth.

A hand came up to cup the back of Stiles' head just beneath his hairline, and Stiles thought he was going to be pushed away for a second, but after a moment of hesitation the hand scratched the nape of his neck in a way that sent a shudder from his head to his toes. He let out a small moan, his hand in Handsome’s hair moving to go around his neck so that he could push them closer together, their crotches lining up and creating a friction that made Stiles whimper desperately for more. Holy shit what was happening to him? He was basically light fucking in the middle of a market square with a dude he literally  _just met_.  
  
The stranger nipped playfully on Stiles' bottom lip, and Stiles nipped back harder, teasingly almost, all thoughts against public indecency going straight out the window. Public  _what_ - _again_? Nope, nothing like that happening here. Just a man kissing another man. Two bros kissing each other senseless in an open place filled with witnesses in the form of old people and children that were probably scarred for life by now. Yeah, nothing at all happening here.

Stiles could feel himself grow week in the knees from all the kissing, and wow,  _that_  was a sentence he’d never thought he’d ever think. Ever. When did he turn back into a teenager again? And while someone answered that, could they also please go ahead and tell him what his name was? He seemed to have lost it in between getting thoroughly mouth fucked by the delicious stranger’s lips in public.

They stood that way, hands closed around each other’s bodies, kissing and teasingly licking until both of them had to stop and come up for air, and even then they held on tightly together, panting, like it would physically hurt them to let go.

Stiles’ head was bent down and resting on the stranger’s shoulder, his breath uneven after having what might have been the most heated kiss of his life. He was pretty sure he was close to fainting with pleasure at least one time during their make out session, and just  _holy fuck_  who even kissed that way anymore?! He was still getting small drops of wetness on his neck and face as he detached his arms from around the man, on a mission to get another dose of that magic mouth, but a loud cough was voiced again.

He sighed, fully prepared to talk down to whoever it was calling on them for a too much NC-17 like public display. "Look, it's not our fault that we–" he started, aggravated, and stopped in his tracks when he saw who it was standing in front of them.

"Whoah, Danny. Uhm... hi." Stiles greeted awkwardly, with his hands still around the stranger's waist.

Quickly, Stiles turned around to whisper in the handsome stranger's ear, "Please act with me on this," before giving the man he had only met less than five minutes ago a peck on the cheek and a flirtatious smile. This was so not the way Stiles had planned his day going.

"Stiles." Danny gave him a small smile that Stiles wanted to punch off his face. "It's good to see you again."

Stiles made an involuntary grimace at Danny’s voice, but tried to cover it up with his best fake-smile. "Danny, hi. Wow, I didn't see you there.”

“I thought it was you I saw walking down the street up by the park. You seemed like you were in a hurry?”

Stiles visibly winced.

“Yeah, I was that you I saw? Weird, huh? I couldn’t tell for sure...” Smooth, Stiles, real smooth. “I was just in a hurry because Hand-“ Stiles was about to say Handsome’s mom called him, but then he remembered that he didn’t know the name of the man he had just practically had on-clothed sex with in the middle of a market square. Yeah, good times.

“Because his,” he inclined his head in Handsome’s direction next to him, “mother called me to remind us that her birthday party was going to be tonight, and I didn’t have a pen with me to write down the details.” Stiles was looking straight at Handsome now and battered his eyelashes innocently. “Right, sweetheart?” Handsome’s mouth opened slightly in shock at the nickname, and looked like he was seriously considering just running away from this entire mess, but then he clicked his jaw shut and nodded sourly. Stiles smiled triumphantly. “So that was you huh? Small world.”

“Yes, that was me.” Danny gave Stiles a once over and their eyes met. “You look great… um, I mean, you look good.”

Stiles just kept staring at the man who had caused him so much pain a couple of months back.

“Thanks…I guess. How you’ve been, Danny?”

“Great, actually. I got that apprentice ship I applied for at Hemsworth law firm, so I'm starting there after the holidays." Stiles had to really smile at that. Danny had been going crazy worrying about his interview at Hemsworth law firm ever since he found out there was a position open as an apprentice, back when they were together. But that was months ago now, and Stiles was found himself to actually be happy for him. He knew how much that opportunity meant to Danny and his family. He'd always wanted to be the first one in his family to study law.

"I'm happy for you, man. I know how much that job meant to you."

Danny gave a small shrug, but was still smiling slightly back at Stiles.

Handsome gave a small cough beside him and then he remembered that  _oh_ , this was in fact his bastard ex he was talking to, and Stiles had just basically kidnapped a man without his consent to come play his pretend boyfriend in front of his ex-boyfriend. When had this become Stiles life, really?

The stranger gave out another cough, and Stiles turned to look at the man, standing awkwardly beside Stiles, looking like he was about to punch Stiles in the face. Well, that would be unpleasant.

Danny seemed to notice Handsome as well, and gave him an once-over, looking back and forth between the stranger and Stiles. "And who is this?" He asked with narrowed eyes, like he couldn't believe that someone like Stiles could be in the same company as Handsome next to him.

"Oh, yes, I completely forgot," Stiles exclaimed, shaking his head like he didn't have any control over the situation that had gotten so way out of hand (which he didn't, so there wasn't much acting to do on his part). He tightened his grip around Handsome’s waist and introduced his fake-boyfriend (that wasn't even aware of the tiny, tiny detail that he was in fact Stiles fake boyfriend up until this point) to his ex.

"Honey, this is Danny, my ex-boyfriend who dumped me in the middle of my best friend’s engagement party," Stiles said, taking a moment to give Danny the proper amount of the Stilinski stink eye gaze in a way that made Danny flinch. What could he say, the skill was hereditary.

"Danny, this is my boyfriend," he introduced, waving a hand from Danny to Mr. Handsome next to him.

Stiles could basically hear the moment Handsome’s gears stopped turning and he managed to gather all of the information and understood that yes, it was him this crazy person named Stiles was talking about, and yes, it was too late to escape now. Handsome’s body stiffened from where Stiles had his hand around the back of his waist, but Stiles hand just moved over Handsome’s right butt cheek and squeezed hard in warning, making Handsome jump, yes actually  _jump_ , for a second, before sending Stiles a cold hard gaze that Stiles would swear could cut through glass. _Just like his jawline_ , Stiles thought. That thing was too sharp to be real.

 

Danny gave the stranger another skeptical gaze, unaware of the fact that Stiles’ warning grip on the stranger’s ridiculously soft butt was everything that held him there, and reached out his hand in Handsome’s direction. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” Danny looked at Handsome impatiently as Handsome turned slightly for a second and gave Stiles a mischievous gaze that seemed to scream “ _Oh, it’s_ **on”**.

Shit.

Handsome stretched out his hand to shake Danny’s and gave him the first smile Stiles had ever seen on his face. It suited him. “Derek,” Handsome supplied with a rough voice, and let go of Danny’s hand. And JACKPOT, we have a name to the ridiculously handsome face,  _hello-o_  Derek.

 

Danny scrunched his nose, retracted his hand and put it back in his jacket pockets. He looked skeptically at Derek, so Stiles shifted awkwardly against Handsome – _no, Derek_ _,_ he reminded himself – and was afraid that his cover was blown until he felt Derek’s hand sneak around his waist and drag Stiles closer to him. The pleased sigh Stiles gave out had nothing to do with acting and everything to do with the fact that Derek fit so well pressed against him.

Something wet flicked annoyingly against Stiles’ face again. “What the—“ Stiles started, but gaped, mouth open as he actually took in what was happening around him, and why he could hear the sound of the children in the market place running around and practically screaming with joy.

It was snowing. It was December, and it was snowing. In Bath. Where it had never snowed for as long Stiles had lived there, which was less than a decade or so.

“Wow,” Stiles mouthed, taking in the tiny flakes of snow drifting slowly downwards from the cloud free sky. “Wow,” he repeated in awe, and felt Derek nod against the side of his face, sending shivers down Stiles’ back.

“It hasn’t snowed here in a very long time,” Derek said, speaking near Stiles’ ear as Stiles looked around at his surroundings and at the children that were running around trying to catch snowflakes with their mouths, or scraping up the little snow that had gathered on the ground to form it into a snowball that they throw on their friends or parents with childlike glee.

Stiles turned around to smile radiantly at Derek. “Not for about 10 years, take or add a year.” Derek smiled back at Stiles and removed a melting snowflake from Stiles’ brow, moving his head closer to Stiles as if wanting to do something to him, like smash him into the nearest flat surface that wasn’t in public (though Stiles wouldn’t be  _completely_  opposed to semi-public sex in the future. Hey, what could he say, Derek had made him  _very_  desperate.) and fuck Stiles senseless several times in a row. As in multiple times and multiple positions. As in every dirty sex dream Stiles had ever had. Oh  _yes please_.

But Derek didn’t – fuck him into the nearest surface that is. Instead, Derek tilted Stiles’ jaw up from where he had been looking down on the ground so that Derek’s mouth was at line with Stiles’, and kissed him softly, almost chaste, while the snow continued to fall around them like a chilled blanket shielding them from the rest of the world. Stiles could feel himself practically melting in Derek’s arms.

When they surfaced in need of air after having kissed, bitten and licked their way into each other’s mouths, Danny was taking pictures of the snowy weather with his phone, which that gave Stiles an idea. He detached one of his arms from Derek’s warm body, and took his phone out from his back pocket. Derek didn’t get any heads up, Stiles just held the phone out in the air, smiled and said “Say cheese!” and then the automatic blitz blinded the both of them. Stiles didn’t look at the picture – he’d take a look at it later as proof that he hadn’t been dreaming this entire ridiculous situation.

Derek just stared at him. Not in a bad way per se, but still in a way that made Stiles want to shield himself from Derek’s gaze because it brought butterflies to his stomach. Jesus, Stiles, he told himself, get yourself together. This isn’t some kind of frigging cheesy romance story where the boy gets the girl (or in his case, where the dorky man named Stiles get the ridiculously handsome man named Derek).That just doesn’t happen. He’s only helping you against his own will because you forced him to. Literally. With a hand on his butt cheek and everything. After this you’ll never see him again…

There were a couple of muffed voices near him, and when Stiles shook himself out of his inner monologue trance, he saw Derek and Danny talking to each other a couple of meters away. Oh shit.

He ran towards them (as fast as he could because it was  _still_  around eight o’clock in the morning and he  _still_  hadn’t had his morning coffee, dammit), and managed to slip on the little layer of snow that now covered the slick marble stones in the market square, and fall straight into the arms of Derek. Double shit.

He looked up at Derek who was looking almost amusingly down at where Stiles was supported by Derek’s arms. “Umm, hi, honey.” His eyes flicked from Derek to Danny, and when he noticed that Danny was watching them both, Stiles straightened up and tilted his head just so that he could give Derek a quick kiss on the lips. Then he blushed, which was beyond embarrassing. “Sorry. You know me, clumsy is my middle name.”

Danny huffed a laughter. “Well, before you came sliding in, I was about to ask your  _boyfriend_  what he does for a living.” Stiles sniffed once, an involuntarily response to the tickling feeling of a snowflake landing on the tip of his nose.

Derek didn’t look startled at the question, nor at the harsh tone it was said in. He just moved his hand from around Stiles’ back where he’d been supporting Stiles earlier, so that it was tucked around Stiles’ waist almost protectively.

_Well,_  this  _was going better than expected_ _,_ Stiles mused joyfully.

“Oh, I’m an artist,” Derek said, and that was it. No explanations of what he made, if he made a fair enough amount of money out of his pieces, when he’d started with it. Just one simple sentence. Four words.

Stiles was beginning to understand that Derek was quite a hard riddle to understand, but Stiles had decided that he was going to try anyway. After all, he was a Stilinski, and Stilinski’s always liked a mystery.

Danny had the nerve to look surprised at the answer, if how his eyebrows were raised was any indication. “An artist, huh? Stiles here has managed to catch himself an artist of all things.” His mouth curved downwards almost to say “not bad”.

_Oh fuck you seven ways from Sunday_ , Stiles thought, and was about one second away from royally kicking Danny up the arse. That right there was why they’d never have worked out in the long run: Danny never had enough faith that Stiles could achieve what he wanted to. That, and Danny was horrible at giving head.

“Do I know of any of your work, Derek?”

Derek shrugged, and started moving his fingers gently against Stiles’ waist where they had slipped under his jacket and hell-o-o skin to skin, yes _please_. “You might…That depends entirely on if you’ve been to an exhibition that took place in  _Musee du Louvre_  in Paris, and later in the _Metropolitan Museum of Art_ in New York, a few years back where they had a rare collaboration of the 21’st century’s most talented artists’ paintings where the artists had the honor of having their art being exhibited next to the world’s most famous works. Or perhaps you’ve visited my gallery, either the one here in Bath, or near my vacation home in Italy.” Derek shrugged again, and his cold fingers tracing Stiles’ skin sent shivers down Stiles’ spine. “If you’ve been to any of those you might have seen some my work.”

Stiles might be gaping. And he might have also gasped in an entirely non-macho manner, but he was too busy staring at the man tracing nothings onto his skin with his fingers, the same man who had just said he had paintings in some of the most prestigious art museums in the entire world. _Seriously, who on earth was this man?!_

Danny took a step back, and Stiles could see him think thoroughly over what Derek had just told him. Then Danny’s eyes widened and he too was gaping at Derek. Hah! Stiles wasn’t the only one.

“You’re name is Derek.” Way to state the obvious, Danny-boy.

“It is.”

“But... b-but you can’t be.”

“Why not?”

“The last time someone saw  _him_  was-was over 14 years ago.  _No_ , this can’t be.” Danny was shaking his head. “I must have you confused with someone else.”

Derek was only smiling at Danny, but not the kind of smile he’d given Stiles earlier, this one was almost…smug.

“Ask me my last name, Danny, and I’ll tell you.”

Wait, what? What was going on here?

“What is your last name?” asked, not Danny, but Stiles.

“Hale.” Stiles could see Derek watching him carefully as he spoke. “My name is Derek Jonathan Bacrowitz Hale. But I have the feeling that you might know me better under my shortened name, Derek Hale.”

What? “Back up a bit, like, a football field of length, kind of bit.” Stiles bit his lip to keep himself from flailing a hundred percent (he was always good on his way to flailing seventy, perhaps seventy four percent). “You’re Derek Hale,  _the_  Derek Hale? As in the child prodigy artist that could draw a fucking replica of Vincent van Gogh if he wanted to when he was just a little child?”

Now that Stiles pointed it out Derek looked almost embarrassed of the fact, but gave a small nod in recognition.

Stiles was gaping again. Yup, that seemed to be a thing with him now.

Danny looked between the both of them. “Stiles, you didn’t know? How could you not know your boyfriend is practically the Claude Monet of the 21 first century?”

Derek could apparently see that Stiles was too busy taking inn all the information, so he irritatingly answered, “I  _was_  going to wait to tell him until my painting for him was ready, but you kind of just went ahead and ruined that, didn’t you?”

For once Danny actually had the decency to look sorry for something he’d done wrong.

“Umm…” Danny began, but Derek had turned his back on him and was now facing Stiles fully. He touched Stiles shoulder briefly, before snapping his fingers in front of Stiles’ face.

“Stiles? You ok in there?” Derek’s brows narrowed in concern.

Stiles continued to stare at Derek with an open mouth.

“Your painting was placed next to one of Da Vinci’s works for three months!” Stiles blurted out. “Like, your  _actual_   _work_  was hanging on the same wall as Leonardo da Vinci’s  _Mona Lisa_.”

“Well, not the  _exact_  same wall…”

Stiles punched Derek on his shoulder. “You know what I mean you dufus.”

“Yeah, I do. And yes, it did.” The man who was standing in front of him, Derek Hale, a man whose paintings were worth millions and millions of pounds, the same man he’d forced to pretend to play his boyfriend.

_Oh god_ , Stiles had forced a millionaire to be his pretend boyfriend. He was going to die. This man in front of him probably had dogs in his possession. Huge, drooling dogs that most likely could cut through little Stiles like he was a chewing stick. Or even worse,  _rape dogs_. Scott had told him about rape dogs a while back, said that apparently it is rumored that the royal family has some at their disposal.

“Of course the royal family doesn’t have rape dogs, Scott!” Stiles had started. “They have the bloody Tower of London where they can stow people that are against the monarchy.  _That_ , and they have ninjas dressed out as body guards. I’m disappointed in you, Scott, I thought you knew this.”

Scott had been outraged. “So they can have ninjas, but  _not_  rape dogs? What the hell kind of a monarchy is it we’re living in today?! That’s it, I’m out.” And then he’d promptly walked out of Stiles’ apartment, slamming the door on his way out.  _Dramatic as always_. The next day he’d found a plushie of an angry looking dog with a sign around his neck that said “Rape dog”, and another one of a ninja wearing black clothes on his doormat. Stiles had taken that as a sign that he was forgiven. It was probably Allison’s doing. That loving woman kept Scott in check when Scott was acting like a complete child.

Derek – the millionaire art genius, Derek, that is – gave Stiles a small wink before crowding closer to Stiles, grabbing onto Stiles’ hands which had gone cold from exposure to the weather. “I’m so sorry for not telling you, will you forgive me, sweetheart?” And wait a minute.  _Sweetheart_ _?_ Since when did Derek call Stiles his sweetheart (looking away from the fact that Stiles has only known this man for the better part of half an hour)? But then he remembered the little wink Derek had given him, the fact that Danny was standing only a couple of meters away from them, and that Derek was his pretend boyfriend and  _oh_! He wanted them to put on a show! Then a show he would get. Stiles played a tree in the background of a school play of Hamlet: he knows this shit.

Stiles swatted away Derek’s surprisingly warm fingers from where they were closed around his own, and took a step back. “You lied to me,” he said weakly. “We’ve been together for months and not once did you think to mention to me that you’re a fucking _millionaire_?!”

Derek winced, but there was a small glint in his eyes, visible only to Stiles, that told him he was onboard with it. Oh this was going to be so good.

“Wait,” Stiles paused. “You told me you painted and drew as a hobby, but this? And the room you keep locked at your apartment and told me I couldn’t enter, that’s where you paint?”

Derek nodded hopelessly.

“How could you not tell me this?” Stiles wheezed, one hand going through his hair in a desperate manner. “Didn’t-didn’t you trust me, was that it? Were you afraid I was going to leak our story to the press or – or...” Stiles took a look at Derek, and the fake devastating look on his perfectly sculpted face told Stiles everything he needed to know. He gasped. “You did, didn’t you! You thought I was going to betray you like that?” Stiles actually felt tears threatening to form in his eyes. Wow, his acting was top notch today.

“No!” Derek cried out. “No, I would never have thought you could have done something like that to me. But at first I was unsure. People… people in my past have used who I am against me before, and I just – I didn’t want us to be like that. I just had to make sure.” And wow, if making art didn’t work out for Derek in the future he sure could take up work in the film industry because holy hell that man was good. Not that he needed the money, because _millionaire_.

“So you decided to test me, then. You didn’t trust me enough to even be honest with me during the time we were together?” And now Stiles was officially tearing up, well this was just great. “That was just nothing to you, just a test to see if you could trust me?” Stiles shook his head and took another step back on the lightly snow covered market ground. In the corner of his eye he could see Danny watching them intensely. He probably thought that they were going to break up because of what he said. Yeah, in your dreams, Danny-boy.

He was about to be protested against from Derek, but Stiles cut of whatever he was about to say with a shaky laugh. “Well, how did I do, Derek? Did I make the cut or is someone else holding the high score?” Stiles sighed deeply, and took another step back. “I can’t take this right now, I can’t take _you_  right now,” Stiles said, but gave Derek what he hoped was a discreet wink so that he knew not to give up on him and come after him.

“We’ll talk later,” Stiles began with a tone of sadness and resentment when Derek touched his arm. “I just need some time to think. Alone.” Then he turned and sent Danny a stern gaze. “Goodbye Danny, I hope we won’t end up seeing each other for a long, long while.” And then he walked away with quick steps, praying that Derek would follow.

One second.

Nothing.

Two seconds.

Still nothing but the sound of children running around and screaming with joy, and the sound of fresh snow under Stiles’ boots.

Three seconds.

Nothing.

Four seconds.

It seemed like Derek wasn’t going to come after him after all.

Five seconds.

Darn it, for a moment Stiles thought he could act out the ending of a cheesy gay romance novel, but no luck.

Six seconds.

And now Danny probably thought they broke up because of him. Great.

Seven seconds.

There was a noise behind him, like someone was running behind him. But he wrote it off for mistaking it for the sound of the children around him, so he ignored it and kept on walking a bit faster than before.

Eight seconds.

“Stiles! Stiles! God dammit, slow the fuck down you bloody idiot!” Someone was shouting. At him. He stopped in his tracks.

Nine seconds.

Derek reached for him.

Ten seconds.

Stiles reached back.

“There are children around. It’s rude to swear in front of children, Derek,” Stiles retorted, but his mouth was curved upwards into a smile.

Derek took a much needed shaky breath and moved so that his face was next to Stiles, and suddenly Stiles’ had a handful of Derek warmth extraordinaire tucking Stiles close to his chest . “I wouldn’t have to swear in front of children if you hadn’t gotten me into this bloody mess in the first place, you idiot. But I’ll do as you wish, this time at least,” Derek whispered warmly into Stiles’ ear.

Stiles returned the hug and cuffed Derek on his shoulder. “That’s for the swearing. What would the children think, really Derek?” Stiles joked. Derek let out a light laugh and Stiles wanted nothing more than to hold him close, which he did.

“What do you say, fake boyfriend, ready to get back together again?” Derek mused, and cupped Stiles’ cheek gently.

“Yupp,” Stiles whispered against Derek’s skin. “Make it a good one, will you? I need that bastard to see what he’s missing out on.”

Derek huffed a laugh against Stiles’ jaw, and then moved his head back so that his lips were lined up with Stiles’. Stiles’ eyes trailed down from Derek’s eyes to his deliciously red lips and _Stiles_ did that. He wondered if they always looked that reddened after a make out session or if it was just him reacting to the cold weather. He hoped for the former. Derek gave Stiles a sly grin as he just barely moved close enough so that his lips could touch Stiles’ in a brief tease of what’s to come, before he took a step back and spoke louder than before.

“I’m so, so sorry. The problem was never that I didn’t trust you. I would trust you with my life if had I the chance to. I just wanted to make sure that you felt the same about me before I told you.” Derek held onto Stiles’ left hand, squeezing it comfortingly. “And – and I was going to tell you. Tonight actually, after my mother’s birthday party.” Derek winked at him and Stiles was close to laughing. He remembered! Stiles had the best fake-boyfriend in the world. “I had a painting I’d been working on which I was going to give to you, and then I was going to tell you about me. And I was also going to tell you that I’m completely smitten by you.” Stiles looked up in shock. “And that I think I am falling for you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Stiles grinned. This was officially the best fake non-break up he had ever had.

“I think I am too,” he said weekly, already beginning to feel the small butterflies in his stomach blossoming up.

“You think you’re what? I couldn’t hear you there.” Derek teased.

“I THINK I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU OKAY.” For a moment all the noise of children’s joyful cries, cars honking and people talking stopped, and Stiles realized that perhaps he had said that a tad louder than he expected. “Do you want it written down or something, man, jeez,” Stiles complained, but he was smiling so big that his cheeks hurt.

“Nah, I’ll make do with having you there to tell me every day,” was all Derek said and who the fuck says stuff like that?! Did he want Stiles to have a heart attack, or what? The next moment there were lips on his own. Very,  _very_  cold lips, but lips nevertheless.  _Sweet mother Jesus have mercy_  Derek’s lips on his own felt  _good_. More than good. Like, mind-blowingly great. Stiles moaned at the feeling, and drew Derek as close to him as he could get without them doing the horizontal tango.

Derek was scratching faintly at the base of his neck again, and that turned stiles into a pile of goo at Derek’s feet. Derek only smiled when Stiles gave small whimpers against his lips, so Stiles thought hell no, not again, and took control. He trailed one of his hands between their bodies and down to Derek’s crotch, pressing a teasing hand down on the zipper of Derek’s jeans which resulted in Derek moaning into Stiles’ jaw helplessly. “You think he’s seen enough?” Derek panted against Stiles’ skin, looking up to glance at where Danny stood by the café, watching them.

The harsh smash of Stiles’ lips against Derek’s could only be taken as a loud and visible no. “ _Fuck_ , Stiles. Fucking hell, I want to touch you so badly,” Derek cursed against Stiles’ jaw, and it seemed too genuinely spoken to be anything but the truth. 

“Is that my fake-boyfriend, or Derek Hale talking?” Stiles whispered huskily into Derek’s ear, licking a stripe alongside his jaw and tasting the little sweat that had gathered there.

“Both,” Derek groaned as Stiles’ hand pressed hard over his crotch through the denim fabric. “Definitely both.”

“Good,” Stiles proclaimed, then he removed his hands from Derek’s body and distanced himself from the sex-god in front of him. For the first time, he actually got to take a good at the mysterious Derek Hale. He stood panting with snow caught in his black hair, on the eyelids of his green eyes, on his jaw that had a few days’ worth of stubble covering it, on his nose that should not allowed to be that perfectly sculpted (because  _puh_ -lease, everyone’s nose looks weird, noses aren’t meant to look anything but weird and pointy), on his pink, almost red like lips that seemed like they’d been thoroughly mouth-fucked. And yes, Stiles was quite happy about that fact, and would have guessed that he looked just about as fucked as Derek, though not literally speaking, unfortunately.

Even his bloody neck, with that motherfucking Adams apple and skin that Stiles just wanted to get this mouth around and  _bite_ , had snowflakes on it that landed on his skin and then melted into small drops of water that ran down his skin. Fuck.

“What are you doing?” said Derek while his ears were beginning to flush, either from the frustration of getting cock blocked or from Stiles staring at him.

“Shhhhh, I’m admiring the view.”

Derek’s laugh right there and then shouldn’t have made Stiles’ as happy as it did.

Handsome was wearing a thick grey winter coat that stopped just so that Stiles could see some of his deliciously magical bootey when he walked (Stiles wanted to see if he could manage to bounce a coin off that thing because it sure looked like he could). And his legs, holy hell, his long, dark blue denim tightly covered legs. Stiles was pretty sure if he could manage to write poetry that didn’t turn out to be complete ant utter shit, he would write them about this man’s legs.

He let out a shaky breath, and noticed first now how it was actually cold outside despite the weather forecast predicting plus five degrees outside for the morning, which was obviously not the case since it was snowing. So he stuffed one of his hands into his pocket and dragged out the knitted winter hat he’d gotten from his grandmother, putting it over his head.

Two hands were closing around on Stiles’ hands, and Derek was standing there rubbing his own hands against Stiles’ to bring some warmth into Stiles’ hands.

Derek tucked his arm around Stiles’ waist, and Stiles noticed that Danny was nowhere to be seen after their little make out session. Good. Serves that bastard right to see what he’s missing out on. “It’s getting cold, we should be heading back to the café,” Derek said.

So they did.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So you have no idea who he is then?”
> 
> “Just that his name is Stiles.”
> 
> “Stiles, huh?” Isaac smirked. “It would be just like you to choose the cuties with the strange names. Oh well, at least he had a nice arse.”
> 
> Derek looked in the direction that Stiles had disappeared off to. He couldn’t say that he disagreed.

Derek wasn’t quite sure how it had come to this.

One moment he was sitting in peace outside in the cold weather and sketching in his book, the next moment he was making out with a very attractive man in the snow while pretending to be his boyfriend. Honestly, he had no idea.

He even had an almost fake breakup with his fake boyfriend, which he could say was a first.

It had all resulted in Derek walking back to the Beta’s café in the slowly falling snow with his arm around the strange man’s (with the even stranger name) waist. The small warmth next to his body as they were walking and the unfamiliar light skinned hand holding onto his own soothed Derek for some unknown reason. It made him not think so much about what had happened, how he’d let his guard down and told Stiles about himself and his one fear, even though the man might just have thought it was a part of his very bad acting.

“So you’re really _the_ Derek Hale, huh?” Stiles said baffled when they reached Derek’s table outside of the café.

“I wouldn’t say I’m _the_ Derek Hale, but my name is Derek Hale, yes.” Derek smirked at Stiles.

“Ey!” Stiles nudged Derek’s shoulder playfully. “You know what I mean you jerk.”

“Sorry,” Derek apologized, but he was still smiling.

Stiles stared at Derek.

Derek stared at Stiles.

They lapsed into a slightly awkward moment where they both stood there and had no idea what to say. Derek took the moment to look around. His drink and food had been cleared from the table, which was weird. He suspected someone from the café had cleared it away when they saw no-one was sitting there anymore. He couldn’t see his bag or other belongings either, just the blanket lying messily over the outdoor bench from where Derek had taken it off.

He had a slight tremor of fear that someone might have taken his belongings. Especially he was worried about his sketch book, which had his private drawings that could sell for a fair amount of money simply because they were his work and had his signature on them. Those drawings weren’t meant to be seen by anyone’s eyes but his. His eyes scanned the area, and stopped when they saw Isaac watching them from the window of the café with Derek’s bag thrown over his shoulder. Derek let out a relieved breath.

“Do you want to have a dr –“ Derek started, turning back to Stiles, but was cut off by Stiles starting to speak at the same time as him.

“I don’t think we –“ Stiles stopped and let out a tense laugh. “Wow, this is more awkward than I thought.”

Derek smiled at him. “You go first.”

Stiles scratched the back of his head. “I was just going to say that we haven’t been properly introduced yet, you know, despite us being boyfriends and all.”

Derek let out a small laugh, and could see Stiles watching him intently. He stretched out his hand. “Derek Hale, nice to make your acquaintance.”

Stiles stared at his hand for a second before taking it. The man’s cold grip sent a shiver down Derek’s spine despite holding it only moments before. “That was a very posh introduction.” Stiles smirked.

“I have to live up to my reputation somehow.”

“Hah, yeah.” Stiles let out a laugh that sounded almost giddy. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Hale. I’m Stiles St –“

A phone rang and startled them both. Stiles searched around in the front pockets of his jacket and took out his phone, answering with a grumpy “Hello”, clearly unhappy about being interrupted, which made Derek smile.

Stiles listened intently for a moment, then he scrambled for the watch on his hand with a horrifying look on his face. “What? Oh shit, I mean yes honey. It will be all right ok. I’ll be there right away, sweetie,” and then he ended the call without a goodbye.

Derek took in the stricken expression. “What’s going on?”

Stiles looked up at him. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, but I have to go. It’s an emergency.”

Derek’s gaze fell for a second.

 _Honey_.

“Yeah, of course. It was nice meeting you.” He turned around slowly, starting to walk into the café.

 _Sweetie_.

How could he have been so stupid? He was just about to ask Stiles out for a coffee, using one of his cheesy pick-up lines and then Stiles went talking on the phone, calling someone _honey_ and _sweetie_ right in front of him. Why would he say that to someone when he’d just made out with Derek? When he was the person that had bloody started the whole fake boyfriend thing in the first place? Perhaps he wasn’t talking to a spouse, but rather a child or a family member? Derek grumbled over the frustrating options in his head.

As he reached the entrance to the café a lean hand took a hold of his wrist and turned him around. Derek barely saw a glimpse of Stiles before he had a handful of Stiles kissing him, pushing him against the wall of the building and, _fuck_ , nibbling his bottom lip. There was no room for thought, only action. His own hands slipped down to Stiles’ ass, moving his pelvis so that it was lined up with Derek’s and then he slowly rolled his hips, earning a small groan from the man attacking his lips like it was the only thing he wanted to do for the rest of his life. They were both breathing heavily into another’s necks when they had begrudgingly to come up for air.

Stiles gave Derek a playful nip on his neck, another quick kiss on his lips and then whispered in his ear roughly, “ _Now_ I can go. See you later Mr. Hale.”

Derek shivered involuntary.

Stiles gave Derek a final peck on the lips and then he turned around and started walking hurriedly in the opposite direction of the café. Derek kept watching him as he walked, like he’d turned into a complete teenager within the small half hour they’d known each other, and was watching his crush walking past him with an open mouth in the middle of the schoolyard. Which was, well… Derek wasn’t going to comment on that one.

He was so absorbed by watching Stiles walk into the snowy market square that he didn’t mind the small flakes of snow that landed and melted on his skin, reddening his ears even further. Nor did he notice that Isaac was standing next to him until he almost jumped out of his skin when he heard his abrupt voice.

“Dude, who’s that?”

Derek clenched his hands over his chest in reflex. “Isaac! Oh my god you scared the _crap_ out of me, don’t do that.” He punched Isaac’s shoulder in childish revenge.

“S’not my fault you’re not paying attention to your surroundings, man.” Isaac grumbled, touching the hit shoulder in fake hurt. His “KISS THE COOK” apron swayed in the wind, and Derek snorted.

There was another layer of snow slowly descending onto them, and both Isaac and Derek looked around in delight.

“Would you look at that.” Isaac’s eyebrows rose. “Guess the weather report was wrong after all.” He threw a hand over Derek’s shoulder, retreating when he got melting snow on it. “Dammit,” he moaned, trying to rub it off. “Who was that anyway? You know, that guy you were making out with for like half an hour outside the café?”

Derek looked at Isaac, shocked. “Wait, you saw us?”

Isaac rolled his eyes. “Dude, everyone in the shop saw you. I even overheard a few bets going on about which one of you would come up for air first.” Isaac shook his head at the memory. “You just be glad that Erica weren’t here, or she would be in pregnant interrogation mode right now, and trust me, she wouldn’t stop before she got _everything_ out of you.” Derek grimaced at that. There was no wrath like a pregnant Erica scorned. He had a few bruises as proof of that. “You two were practically having sex out there with the way you were kissing. I was almost afraid that the cops would come and break you up since there were kids around, but to be honest it looked like they were too interested to disturb.” Isaac shuddered. “I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend dude.” He looked up at Derek. “You could have told me, you know.” And now Derek was feeling guilty because Isaac was giving him the puppy eyes and thought Derek had a secret boyfriend he hadn’t told his friends about. God dammit.

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.” Isaac agreed, eyes narrowing.

“I met him less than half an hour ago when he interrupted my lunch and asked me if I was gay, and then he made out with me and got me to act like his boyfriend in front of his ex-boyfriend,” Derek blurted out, hands crossed over his chest.

There was a moment of silence.

“Honestly?” Isaac asked, baffled.

“Honestly.”

“Well…” Isaac started, mouth a bit open. “That’s a new one.”

Derek hummed in agreement.

“So you have no idea who he is then?”

“Just that his name is Stiles.”

“Stiles, huh?” Isaac smirked. “It _would_ be just like you to choose the cuties with the strange names. Oh well, at least he had a nice arse.”

Derek looked in the direction that Stiles had disappeared off to. He couldn’t say that he disagreed.

“Ouch!” Isaac exclaimed with a whelp as Derek threw him over his shoulder and held him that way while walking into the café. Derek’s bag fell from Isaac’s shoulder and onto the ground, but Derek quickly picked it up while balancing Isaac from where he was hanging over his shoulder. “Come on, you little puppy. Let’s go inside. Can’t have you slacking off on your work now, can we?”

“I will murder you,” Isaac threatened weakly into Derek’s back.

Derek laughed. “Whatever you say,” he grinned, and promptly pinched Isaac’s left butt cheek.

Isaac’s string of curse words followed them into the café.

 

**********

 

Stiles had never been so angry at his Jeep before.

It was old, all right, he’d known that from the very start. After all, it _had_ been his mother’s (and probably her parents’ before that if the condition it was in was anything to go by). Still, it was _his_ Jeep, despite the window shields on the car not working properly, the rattling that came the air-condition whenever he turned it on (because he’d played with Lego a few times in his mother’s car while waiting for her to close up the library, and accidents happened when small children had access to Lego and a huge car with many possible hiding places ok), the engine taking ages to start, and the old radio that could only take in two channels, one which was an indie station and the other one was a modern pop channel. (You can guess which one he chose to listen to. Hint: the channel that _didn’t_ play songs sung by a boy whose name rhymed with Dustin Beaver.)

But, despite all its fault and scratches, it used to belong to his mother, and had been given to him by his father on his 18’th birthday, with the teary message that his mother would have wanted him to have it.

The fact that the car held sentimental value to him was the only reason why he hadn’t pushed it off a nearby bridge when it wouldn’t start that morning.

Well, that and the fact that then he’d have to walk home to his apartment, or even take the bus. Neither seemed like good options to Stiles at the time because first and foremost it was snowing outside and cold as hell, and he didn’t want to take the bus with a bunch of wet and sniffing people (he knew flu season was well on its way and he wasn’t going to let the virus get to him dammit, not this time) and _eww_ , wet people.

So no, Stiles didn’t push his car off a nearby bridge when it didn’t start, but he did put on his best puppy face and started begging the car to work.

“Please baby, work. Just this one time and I’ll get you that paint job we’ve been talking about for months now. I’ll even replace your window wipers with new and functional ones just for you. Come on baby, work, please.” Stiles cooed to the car, stroking it’s dashboard with firm strokes before turning the key in the ignition and crossing his fingers.

After a moment of suspension the car hummed to life, and Stiles kissed the steering wheel quickly in relief. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He backed out of the parking lot quickly and tried not to think about the person he was leaving behind by the café, but failing rapidly.

 

**********

 

Derek didn’t really know why he was running, feet moving at full speed as he passed the corner of his neighborhood, trying not to slip on the rough and slippery ground. Nor did he know why he had let that man get as close to him as he had. He had told the man – _Stiles_ , he reminded himself, his name was Stiles – of things he wouldn’t have told his significant other until months into their relationship, at least not within the first half-hour of them meeting. To be honest, he couldn’t help himself. There was just something about Stiles, some sort of openness and honesty that not even Derek, with his strongly constructed walls, could resist. And it was aggravating, perplexing and wonderful all at the same time.

Derek was at a loss of what to do.

He wanted – he _wanted_ to have Stiles. To be around him, talk to him, touch him, wake up next to him. The powerful surge of want he felt towards Stiles frightened Derek more than anything else. It had never been like that with any of his previous relationships, hell, not even with his one night stands.

So Derek painted, for the first time in three years.

The moment he entered his apartment he threw off his outdoor clothing, and practically ran into his atelier, grabbing his painting clothes from the bottom of his closet together with his acrylic painting and put on some good old-fashioned70’s and 80’s ballads on the speakers. Derek mixed different colors and nuances of painting onto his palette, and took a deep breath, standing in front of the 30x40 inches big canvas he had placed in the middle of his atelier, supported by the easel he hadn’t used in years. He took the biggest and sturdiest brush he could find from his equipment table, using it to mix a dark blue base color, and when he was happy with the nuance of the color he touched the brush to the canvas and _painted_ , the memory of Stiles still fresh in his mind, everything else gone.

 

**********

 

To say that Stiles was stressed did not even cover it _at all_.

He’d gotten the call whilst in the motion of trying to flirt with his fake boyfriend, which, of course, was the idyllic phone-cock blocking moment in any rom-com movie he’d ever seen, but he answered the phone anyway.

When he heard the sad tone of Tam’s tearful voice asking him if he could pick her up from day care because she missed papa and mommy, Stiles was in his car and out of the parking-lot as fast as his car would allow (which was apparently not that fast).

Tam’s day care was fortunately not far away from where he had parked, so it only took him ten minutes until he was parking outside the building and running inside. In the reception he found Tam sitting on a bench with one of the day care workers kneeling on the floor and drying Tam’s wet cheek with a wipe.

“Tam!” Stiles called out, watching Tam’s distraught face light up a notch while she jumped off the bench and ran towards Stiles.

“Uncle Stwiles!” Tam screamed, jumping into his open arms. He hugged his goddaughter to his chest, shushing her quiet sobbing with soothing pats to her head.

“I’m here, baby girl, I’m here.” He waited until she had calmed down before he placed her back on the ground, him kneeling before her. There were still tears running down her face, and her nose was a bit red, so he took a tissue from the box placed on the reception desk. The reception woman gave him a sympathizing smile. He dried the tears from her flushed cheeks, making her blow her nose on the tissue before throwing it in a nearby garbage bin. When he dried her face he could see different colors of what looked like painting on her nose, eyebrow and chin. He looked down at the rest of her clothes, and yes, they were also covered in small streaks of dried paint. Anger ran through his body, and he looked up at the day care worker that had been with Tam when he arrived. “What exactly happened here?” He asked the lady, motioning to the dried paint on Tam’s clothes and face.

The young girl looked down at Tam. “Little Tamara here poured painting on one of her classmates painting in art-class today, and then suddenly she was having a painting fight with said classmate.” She sighed gently, almost tiredly. “The boy was a lot worse off, but I managed to break them up before anything worse happened, like someone getting painting in their _eyes_ or any _equally worse_ places,” she said with a pointed look at Tam. Tam sniffed.

Stiles gave the lady a small smile, and thanked her for all her trouble. He would have taken Tam to apologize to the boy she had a fight with, but the (now much happier that they were leaving) lady told him that his parents had already come and picked him up. Tam picked up her things from the hallway with shelves for the children to put their things in, and followed Stiles out the door, holding onto his hand firmly.

He buckled her in the back seat of the car, even though she would much rather sit in the front seat like all the adults did, but Stiles was a strict _but_ cool uncle. The only exception of the former was on the rare occasions when he let her have ice-cream before dinner and watch cartoons in her pajamas. It was those McCall’s and their stupid charm, because she, like her goofy puppy of a father, also had her way with the puppy eyes and sometimes Stiles couldn’t help but to cave in for the bundle of happiness that was Tamara Argent-McCall.

The drive back to Stiles’ place was mostly filled with indie music, and complete silence from the both of them except the occasional “Look Uncle Stwiles, a cloud shaped as a dog!” and Stiles’, “Wow, you might be right. But doesn’t it look a bit like your papa Scott as well? Those floppy ears and that waggling tale. You know, sometimes your papa reminds me of a hyper puppy. When I first met him I wasn’t even sure if he was human or not!”

Tam’s laughter had filled the car. “Papa’s not a dog!” She shrieked, giggling.

“You sure?” Stiles asked with fake surprise.

She giggled. “Yes!”

He grinned at Tam’s enthusiasm. “Okay then.”

They reached his apartment in little over fifteen minutes since it was placed a bit outside the center of Bath. When Tam got out of his Jeep the first thing she did was to pick up a handful of the little snow on the ground and threw it in Stiles face with a shriek of laughter.

Stiles locked the car and started walking towards her playfully. “Oh you little! It’s on!” He started running to where she was standing by the entrance of his apartment building, but Tam quickly picked on and ran behind the building, and into the grass covered patches that were meant to be the mutual garden for all the inhabitants in the apartment complex. He ran after her and picked her up easily, throwing her gently over his shoulder while she shrieked with laughter.

“Put me down, Uncle Stwiles! Put me down!”

“No! I’ve got you now, and I’m never giving you up. Mhahahaha!” he laughed maniacally and ran back to the front entrance and locked them into the building. When they had walked up to his floor and entered his apartment neither Tam or Stiles had stopped laughing. He removed her carefully from over his shoulder, and she immediately began punching him softly on the stomach.

“That was mean,” Tam pouted, but he could spot the smile behind it.

Stiles grinned and ruffled her spikey brown hair. “You deserved it, kid.” He dropped his keys into a bowl and removed his and Tam’s outdoor clothes. “Now, are you going to tell me what happened today,” he motioned to her painted jacket, “or are you going to make me have to tickle it out of you?”

Tam was silent for a moment and seemed to consider her options, so Stiles moved closer to her, hands waggling with a smile. “You asked for it,” he howled, and started tickling her in a way that made her cry with laughter. “Stop! Stop it Uncle Stwiles!” she laughed.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Silence.

“All right then.” He continued to tickle her until she fell down on the floor with uncontrolled laughter.

“Ok, ok, I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!” She gasped out between laughs.

Stiles finally stopped.

Mission accomplished.

Stiles’ tickles was something to be feared, even by the brave young Tam, because he could tickle almost anything out of children, or at least he prided himself in that. He’d learned it from years and years of babysitting his cousins and neighbors children.

He stood up, helping his goddaughter up from the floor as well, and sat down on the couch, motioning for Tam to sit beside him.

“Now, what happened? It’s not like you to start fights, Tam.”

“I know.” Her chin wobbled. “But Uncle Stw _-iles_ , he made fun of my painting, said girls couldn’t paint a football because it wasn’t _girly_.” She sounded almost disgusted at the thought. “So I poured painting on his picture to make him stop talking stupid, but then he took the squishy bottle with painting and squeezed some on me, and I just had to throw some back because he ruined my jacket.” Tears were beginning to form in her eyes now, and Stiles lifted her so that she was lying in his lap, head cradled to his chest.

“It’s okay honey, we can get you another jacket just like it, all right?” He soothed her.

She sniffed once and looked up at him. “Really?”

“Really,” Stiles smiled down at her and gave her a kiss on the cheek, noticing for the second time that she had paint all over her clothes and body. “Let’s get this painting off you, shall we? But first you need to promise your Uncle Stiles that you won’t do something like that again all right? I know boys at your age can be hard sometimes sweetie, and that this boy was mean to say this to you, but that doesn’t mean that you can throw paint on him or ruin his picture.” Stiles ran his hands through her short hair. “You need to be better than that ok?”

“Ok Uncle Stwiles, I promise” Then she added,” Please don’t be mad.” Tam sniffled again and hugged Stiles’ tighter.

“I’m not mad honey, just thinking that you’ll need a proper wash. Want to have a bubble bath in Uncle Stiles’ awesome tub? I bought some new toys for you to play with,” he teased, watching her eyes light up.

“Oh can we, can we!” She was up from the couch and running to the bathroom in no time.

Stiles followed her inside and poured some water from the showerhead and into his tub, readjusting the warmth of the water while Tam got undressed.

When Scott had asked him if he could babysit Tam for a weekend while Scott and Allison went on a weekend get-away Stiles had immediately said yes. Those two lovebirds needed a well-deserved break after juggling a busy work-life with a six year old child without a proper vacation in years, but Stiles also loved his goddaughter a lot, and cherished any moment he got to spend with her. Of course, Stiles wasn’t _really_ her uncle, but it was a lot easier for her to call him that rather than her parent’s best friend or her godparent, so they just went with it (just like Allison, Scott and Stiles stopped correcting her long ago when she called Stiles “Stwiles” instead of his properly spelled name). This had been the first time Allison and Scott had been away from Tam for a very long time, so he’d guessed that Tam might be sad and a bit off. Maybe that’s why she fought with that boy? Whatever reason she had, Stiles knew that Tam was aware that it was wrong, and would perhaps learn from her mistake. But, in the end she was only a 6 year old girl, on her way to growing up, so Stiles couldn’t really expect that much of her. He still wanted to shout at that boy for upsetting Tam, though.

He’d always held Tam close to his heart. Even when Allison found out she was pregnant during her second year in uni while getting a doctor in English History, Stiles had talked and cooed at her growing stomach, cherishing the baby almost as if it was his own. Allison had taken over a year off from university to have the baby and take care of it afterwards, while Scott had stayed in uni (the same university as Allison, of course. Like he could handle being apart from her more than three minutes) studying to be a veterinarian.

They had gotten married after Tam’s first birthday, which Stiles was there for, of course, crying and beaming at his two best friends being so happy and perfect for each other, and holding a smiling baby Tam in his hands. Allison had gone back to school afterwards, finishing her degree with flying colors, while Scott, who had finished his veterinarian degree by that time, took some time off to take care of their darling Tamara. After 5 years they chose to renew their vows, which Stiles was there for as well, but with a plus one this time, his pre-wedding boyfriend but post-wedding not-so-much-boyfriend, Danny. Yeah, that had been a day to remember. Still, Stiles was very much happy. He had his friends, his dad and a beautiful goddaughter. He couldn’t ask for more.

Still, there was something at the back of his mind that flashed back at him, a smiling Derek moving to kiss him with the snow falling around them, but he shook the thought away. He couldn’t have that.  It wasn’t his to have, no matter how much he had taken without permission that morning.

Tam called for him, telling him that she wanted bubbles in her bath, and he obliged the little princess.

 

**********

 

At 13:36 the same day, Derek’s phone rang. The loud and intrusive sound made Derek drop his brush on the plastic filled area around the easel in shock. He _had_ been listening to famous ballads from the 70’s and 80’s, because that was secretly Derek’s jam even though he would deny it like hellfire every time Laura borrowed – or more like stole – his iPod and complained about his music taste.

“ _You are the voice_ , seriously Derek, _seriously_?”

“I have _no_ idea what you are talking about and I will deny whatever accusations you have against me until the day I die. You have no proof, witch!”

“Oh please, little brother, you’re not fooling anybody, let alone your own skin and blood.”

“How did I end up with a heathen for a sister again? Please remind me.”

“Witchcraft. Made a deal with a crossroads demon that I would give him my soul in return for him making me your biggest pain in the ass. Now little brother, we really need to do something about that haircut of yours…”

And he didn’t. Fool anyone, that is.

So when he heard the phone ring with the chorus of Rick Astley’s _Never Gonna Give You Up_ he immediately knew it was Laura that was calling him. He’d put that song in there mostly to annoy her, but it did also make him pick up his phone faster because he couldn’t stand that fucking song, not because he was afraid of the wrath that was his big sister. No, _of course not_.

“What?” Derek snapped into the phone, picking up the brush from where he had dropped it on the plastic covered floor.

“Don’t you _what_ me, little brother. Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Derek sighed and took a look at the clock hanging on the wall in front of him. “Soon two o’clock. Why?”

“Oh, nothing much, you were just supposed to have a meeting at one with your event planner one hour ago! She’s been calling here non-stop demanding to know why you didn’t meet up with her as planned. The strange thing is that I don’t recall ever giving her my number. I’m actually kind of scared.”

Oh shit.

Oh holy buggery shit. He opened his calendar on his phone for the day and there it was:

_13:00, meeting with Miss. Martin to discuss art exhibition. Don’t be late!!!_

Yup, Derek was done.

Screw not simply walking into Mordor, if there was one thing one did **not** simply do, it was get late for a meeting with Miss. Martin.

“Shit!”

“Exactly,” Laura agreed.

“She is going to murder me.”

“Oh, don’t take it so harshly, bro, I’m sure she won’t kill you,” Laura soothed with fake empathy. “Cut your balls off, yes, that she might do, but murder is a bit well stretched, don’t you think? Even for Miss. Martin.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. The last time I was late for an appointment with her she came to my apartment.”

“So? That doesn’t seem so terrible.”

“I was in the shower, Laura. In the _shower_! And she just barged right in and told me to get ready in 30 seconds or she was coming in there and dragging me out herself.”

“Wait, how did she get into your apartment? Please don’t tell me you gave her a key, Derek.”

“Of course not!” He exclaimed, outraged at the very thought. She was a pain in the ass – though a brilliant event planner – enough as it was, he could only imagine the horror that would take place if she had a free pass to his apartment. There was a short moment of silence and then he muttered something Laura couldn’t hear.

“What was that?”

“I said she bribed the doorman to the building,” he whispered. “Or she murdered him because the next day good ol’ Dave was gone and someone else had “replaced” him. Either way, that woman is scary. Oh god, I’m going to die. Can’t you talk to her?” All that could be heard over the phone though, was a small crash and then some very loud laughing. “I can’t believe you, are you laughing at me?!”

“You – you, she walked in on you when you were showering oh my _god_ Derek,” she wheezed with laughter. “I can’t believe you never told me that. I’m going to give her a medal the next time I see her, I don’t think I have ever heard you so afraid before.”

Derek straightened up his shoulders and huffed. “I’m not afraid…Just taking precautions, that’s all. I can’t have her murdering me before my art exhibition starts. Besides, I’m sort of busy right now,” he told his sister, applying another brush of dark grey to the shadow in the right background of the painting. He paused. “I’m painting again.”

He could hear his sister’s breath hitch. “Derek,” she said softly. “That’s – That’s really great, Derek.”

The truth was that Derek hadn’t painted for years. Not since after his little brother had died.

It had happened a late July afternoon, he had been sitting outside on the terrace of his apartment, canvas on his lap, and trying out some new shading techniques with acrylic painting when his phone had ringed. Two minutes later he was in his car, driving 40 over the speed limit in order to get to the hospital where all his family were sitting in the waiting room.

Well, as cruel fate would have it, everyone except one.

Jeremy had only been 9 years old, and he had died crossing the street to get the ball he had kicked in the wrong direction. A hit and run, that’s what the police officers had said. No suspects. When Jeremy died, a part of Derek died also. He went through a fit, ripping, cutting and throwing canvases and drawings all over his apartment.

It had been his and Jeremy’s thing: painting. Derek was the first one to teach his baby brother how to hold a brush, and how to express himself through art. Jeremy had been great at it, and Derek had thrived in the fact that they shared that same interest. The rest of their family had told Jeremy he’d gotten his artistic side from Derek, and they had all laughed about it. But then he had died, and suddenly the freedom he had gotten by painting didn’t seem so free anymore, so he gave it up.

This was the first time he had painted in 3 years.

“Yeah, well, I thought it was time, you know?” Derek weakly explained into the phone. If he heard some short breathing over the phone and sobbing noises that sounded like Laura was crying, he didn’t comment on it.

“I met this guy,” Derek blurted out suddenly.

“A guy, huh?” Laura commented, sniffing once, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

“He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever been with, and he, he inspired me.” He laughed freely at the ridiculous situation he had been in. “My hands are tingling, Laura. They’re honest to god tingling with the need to paint, to create something.”

“So paint! I’ll take care of Miss. Martin this time, schedule another appointment. Make sure you don’t miss that one.” There was a small pause, then Laura said, “I’m so proud of you Der.”

Derek smiled warmly into the phone. “Thanks.” He was about to hang up, but then he remembered, glancing up at the canvas before him, at the two people starting to form. “Oh Laura, there’s one more thing I need you to do for me. Tell Miss Martin that I’m changing the main piece for the art exhibition. I’m going with the one I’m painting now instead.”

“The art exhibition is in one week, Derek! She’s going to freak!”

Derek grimaced. “I know.”

“Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“You were wrong earlier.”

“About what?”

“Lydia Martin is definitely going to murder you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He gave them the PG-15 version, slightly worried that quoting intimate Shakespearian lines about Stiles’ goddamn lips wouldn’t fair too well with his friends. That and they would probably mock him for the rest of his life.

It took Scott about seven minutes of Stiles pacing around in his and Allison’s living room for him to notice that something was up with Stiles.

Honestly, Stiles was surprised that it had taken him that long.

Scott knew Stiles better than anyone, and had known him ever since he was 7 years old and dared Stiles to jump from the swings in full speed after school one day because Scott wanted to see if people really could fly. Of course, Stiles had complied, and that had resulted in Stiles walking around with crutches for a month, and three very angry parents, one of whom was a Sheriff who was allowed to carry a gun, mind. Scott’s mom had been one of those furious people, and had made innocent puppy-faced Scott come apologize to Stiles when he was in the hospital. Stiles had gotten permission to flick Scott’s ear in revenge, while Scott had drawn Captain America’s shield on Stiles’ cast, and that was that; a life lasting friendship had been formed. So, when his best friend finally interrupted Stiles’ mindless pacing, Stiles stopped and listened.

“Dude, what’s gotten into you?” Scott gave him a look. “You have barely said a thing since you dropped off Tam half an hour ago, and if that wasn’t unusual enough you won’t stop pacing,” he said, motioning to where Stiles’ leg had started moving at its own accord. Stiles winced and stopped the shaking foot with a hand on his leg. “It’s not Tam, is it? You know, if it was any trouble for you to look after her this weekend while we were gone you could have told us and we would have –“

“No!” Stiles interrupted. “No, that isn’t it at all! God, you know I love spending time with Tam, she was an angel as always.” His fingers went through it hair, ruffling the messy locks. “I just have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“Who has a lot on their mind?” Came Allison’s voice from the other room, and Stiles took a moment to just take in the beautiful woman who was one of his closest friends as she strode into the living room, closing the door to the hallway behind her. Allison moved with the same grace and jaw-dropping finesse as she did when Scott pointed her out for the first time, walking down the halls of Beacon Hills High School while he declared her the love of his life with smitten eyes. Her brown hair was curled, and she was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a jumper, but Stiles thought his friend had never looked more beautiful.  
Of course there was also the filthy grin she gave her husband that reminded Stiles that these two love monkeys had been fucking all weekend long while he’d been the best of all friends and watched out for their little girl, and noooo, he was not thinking about Scott and Allison having sweaty sex, ew, ew, _ew_! He was going to need to pour bleach into his head to get that image away.

Allison saw Stiles giving Scott filthy looks, but gave him a small wink and moved to the kitchen to get some drinks out on the table. Oh how Stiles admired that woman.

“We need to be a bit quiet because I just put Tam to bed, but Stiles, do you want beer or wine?” She asked from where she stood in front of the open refrigerator.

“Wine! And one of those fancy big-ass glasses that you have, please.” Stiles sat down in their enormous living room couch, which he was marrying by the way. The moment it becomes legal to marry furniture he was marrying that delicious thing and stealing it from Allison and Scott – they could of course come and visit it from time to time but scheduled appointments only – because something that delicious to sit on should be appreciated and loved in a way that only Stiles could provide.

“Stiles, stop making goo-goo eyes at the furniture and come help carry these glasses,” Allison scolded from the kitchen, and Stiles gave in with a sigh to go help the lady in need. Scott grinned at him and shook his shoulders, sitting down on the couch with a pleased look on his face. “Don’t think that you’re not helping, Scott!” Allison sing–songed to her husband.

Scott’s childish groan was like delicious victory music to Stiles’ ears.

 

**********

 

“So what seems to be troubling you, Stiles?” Allison asked later when they were all spread messily on the couch after a few drinks.Stiles was lying on his back with his head on Scott’s lap for some reason, while Allison was snuggled up next to Stiles like a cute little puppy.

“Have you’ve ever met someone, and just instantly clicked?” Stiles began, petting Allison’s hair soothingly. “Like, BAM, you see that person and you just know that you two are supposed to be together?”

Scott gave a dreamy sigh and looked down at Allison. “You know I do.” Allison blushed and stared back at Scott, their eyes interlocking for about a minute before Stiles intervened.

“Okay-y, stop with that eye fucking in front of your single friend, or he is breaking up this puppy pile and going straight home and you won’t get to know the amazing story of what happened yesterday.” This seemed to get their attention.

“ _What_ happened yesterday?” Allison asked with a teasing tone. She moved her body beside Stiles’ so that she was looking straight at him.

“Whoah, woman, no need to take out the Eyes of Doom,” Stiles said from where he had backed away from Allison’s gaze. That woman had a stare that could win over Stiles’ own easily, and that was a rare thing. Scott pinched his ear eagerly, and Stiles swatted the hand away. Together Scott and Allison made an unique team, and Stiles knew that he wouldn’t be able to win against them in his current state of drunkenness. “I’ll tell you.” He accepted defeat unhappily.

Allison and Scott’s smiles were terrifyingly gleaming.

 

**********

 

“All right, let me see if I got this straight,” Allison started after Stiles had given them the summary of what happened yesterday.“You saw Danny for the first time in months, and that lead you to snogging the shit out of some complete hottie who turned out to be a world famous painter who didn’t seem opposed to some voyeuristic making out in the middle of a market square in order to make your ex jealous. _And_ it started snowing for the first time in a century.” Allison seemed wordlessly put out. Stiles almost wanted to take a picture. Wait…

“Picture!” Stiles blurted out when it was obvious that his friends didn’t completely believe his rare Saturday morning.

“What?” Allison and Scott said in unison.

“I have a picture! Photographical proof that I am not as crazy as you currently thing I am.”

He heard Scott mumble a small “You’re always crazy, bro,” which, hey, _rude_ , while Stiles scrambled with hands in his pockets. He fetched his phone out of his left back pocket and pinched Allison’s butt in the process (not on purpose of course, nooo). “Sorry!” He wailed when Allison squealed at the touch.

“Stiles, baby, I love you and everything, but get your hand off my butt before I break it.” Allison warned in a sweet tone.

Stiles frowned. “But this is my jacking off hand. Even you wouldn’t be cruel enough to take that away from a single, sexually frustrated fella.” Allison gave him a look that seemed to scream “try me”. Stiles didn’t want to take that chance. That woman was _fierce_. “I’m taking my hand off,” he said and quickly removed it, taking up his phone at the same time.

“Good,” she kissed Stiles’ temple. “Now, let’s see that picture of your teenage wet dream come to life.”

“Hey! I never said he was _that_ good looking,” but Stiles knew the ridiculous smile on his face told them otherwise.

“You didn’t have to, dude. You’re practically glowing,” Scott commented, and that just made Stiles’ smile even bigger.

Scott rolled his eyes at the sight. “All right, gimme that if you’re just going to sit there and stare like a fool.” He took Stiles’ phone from him and entered the password quickly. Stiles didn’t even know that Scott knew his password. The only reason why Scott could remember his own password was because it was Allison’s name, which Stiles found _very_ unoriginal.

“ _Dude_ ,” Stiles complained, but Scott made a few swipes with his fingers on the touch screen, and then gave a small “Huh, not bad,” at the phone. When Scott passed the phone to Allison he wished that he wasn’t lying down on Scott’s lap so that he could see the picture of Mr. Handsome that he hadn’t gotten the chance to see before now.

A small, “Nawwww, _Stiles!_ ” was heard from his left, and he barely had time to take a look at Allison’s giddily face before the phone was thrust into his hand, and a picture of Derek and himself stared up at him from the screen. Derek was standing very close to Stiles with Stiles’ hand slung over Derek’s shoulder and he wore a very shocked expression, probably blended momentarily by the blitz from the phone. His grey winter coat was covered with small flakes of snow, and his hair was completely wrecked, standing up in all directions like someone had grabbed ahold of it and fucked it up, which Stiles found very satisfactory because _he’d_ caused that. Scrawny Stiles had made supermodel-look-a-like Derek look like he’d just been thoroughly blissed out, and Stiles liked the thought of that. A lot. Then there was Stiles, who was looking at Derek with flushed cheeks, snow-filled hair and a radiant smile that couldn’t be described as anything other than complete and utter affection. He felt his insides curl. Had he really been looking at Derek with a similar expression the entire time? Oh god, he was mortified!

Stiles groaned, hiding his flushed cheeks in the palm of his hands. “Scott, kill me now.”

“No way, dude. You’re cute when you’re flustered,” Scott teased, and Stiles moved his hands from his face so that he could give Scott a glare. Scott only smiled, that idiot. “Besides, I haven’t seen you this hung up with someone since Lydia, and that’s saying something because you spent the better part of your high school life lusting after her, and you only met this dude  like a day ago.”

Stiles gave another groan in Scott’s direction and took the nearest pillow, wondering if he could manage to choke his best friend to death without Allison noticing. Apropos Allison, she was being very quiet. He turned around on the couch, back facing the end of the couch, so that he could see what Allison was doing. She was on his phone, that stealthy little fucker. He hadn’t even noticed that she’d taken it from him, too busy arguing with Scott to notice anything else. “Uhm, what are you doing?”

“Browsing,” came the simple reply.

Stiles frowned. “Browsing what?”

The following silence told him everything he needed to know.

“Allison! Please don’t tell me you’ve done what I think you’ve done.”

“Did you know that Derek’s full name is Derek Jonathan Bacrowitz Hale? Mr. Hale here attended the prestigious Royal College of Art in London, and graduated with flying colors.” Allison waggled her eyebrows at him, and Stiles tried to move himself from where he was sprawled over Scott’s lap to take his phone away from her, but Scott’s arms held him down. Dammit those two. “It seems like you have a straight A boy in your sight. Not bad kiddo,” Allison grinned, and ruffled his hair.

“Hey! First of all, I’ll have you know that we’re the same age, so no kiddo talk to me sister. And secondly…” He could feel Scotts hand around him relaxing, so he chose that moment to free himself from his friends clammy hands with a push, and then he was descending on Allison like a child opening presents on Christmas morning.

“Stiles!” Allison shrieked, battering away Stiles’ tickling hands with the one she wasn’t holding Stiles phone up in the air with. “He also – haha, _stop_ – he also comes from a big family,” she managed to cram out between laughter. “Naw, Stiles look, a there’s even – _eeek_ , stop! _Stileees_ – a baby picture here of your new hubby.”

Stiles didn’t back down. “Give me my phone back you wicked little thing!” He shouted after her and basically jumped on top of her, trying to grab his hand out of her hands before she could spoil anything else about Derek.

“Scott!” Allison tried, but Scott had retreated to the other couch on the opposite side, far away from them with his own phone in his hand, and _wait_ , was he filming them?

“Sorry sweets, I’m Switzerland in this scenario,” he said carefully, and Stiles knew the only reason why Scott hadn’t joined Stiles in defeating Allison was that she would probably withhold sex if he did, and Scott was a sucker for sex with Allison, always had been. Stiles groaned. Scott was no help.

He continued his tickling.

“ _Ahahaaaah_ , Stilesssss”, laughter, “Derek, he – he”, more laughter, “did he tell you that he used to be a stipper?” Allison practically screamed (but with an inside voice because there was a child in the house (or well, child _ren_ if you counted Scott, which Stiles did)).

Stiles stopped everything, and looked down at Allison with his mouth open and eyes wide. “W-what?Really?”

Allison’s open face stared back at him from below where he was sitting on top of her. A moment passed, then both Allison and Scott dissolved into hysterical laughter.

“Did you see that expression?” Allison heaved in-between laughs. She was clenching her stomach and tears were starting to fall down her face. Scott was lying face down in the couch, body shaking with laughter. “Stiles you should have seen your face! Please, _please_ tell me you got that on tape sweetie.” Scott shook his phone in the air from the other couch and Stiles took that as a yes.

Scott was still laughing.

Stiles hoped he died from laughter.

“You two are jerks.” Stiles groaned, and hid himself under the nearest pillow.

 

**********

 

“That’s it, we’re staging an intervention,” were the words Derek was greeted with when he opened his apartment door Tuesday afternoon. Three concerned and mildly pissed off faces stared at him from the other side of his threshold.

Derek sighed and let them into the apartment. “Good day to you too.”

Isaac, Erica and Boyd stepped inside, looking around with narrowed eyes. It’s not like they hadn’t been inside his apartment before, because they had. Sometimes it even felt like they lived there. Erica looked Derek up and down. “Good Christ, dude, you look completely wrecked.” Derek frowned. Okay, perhaps he hadn’t stepped outside of his apartment in three days and he may or may not have lived off home delivered Chinese and Italian food for the past couple of days, but Derek didn’t think that he looked _that_ bad.

“Yeah man, it looks like you haven’t gotten any sleep at all,” Boyd complied, probably taking in Derek’s wrecked hair, his pale face that held a few days of stubble, and paint smeared clothes.

“Is that paint in your hair?” Isaac asked, seeming to have noticed the same thing as Boyd. He walked over to Derek and plucked some dark blue paint from his locks. Derek mindlessly brushed his hand over his hair.

“Uh, yeah.” He shrugged, trying to lessen the bigness of what he was doing, even though he was fully aware of how big of a step this was for him.

“You’re painting again?” Erica asked, eyes widening. Tears were quickly starting to form in her eyes and she brushed them off. “Dammit those pregnant hormones,” she cursed with a small laugh. “My emotions are all over the place.” She went to sit down in the couch in the living room and scoffed when Boyd tried to help her. “I’m not an invalid, sweets. I can manage sitting down by myself just fine even though I have a child growing inside of this hot body.” Ah yes, that was more like the Erica they knew and loved.

“How is the baby?” Derek asked to try to change the subject.

Erica’s eyes narrowed at him in suspicion. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Derek. Changing the subject won’t help.” She stuffed a pillow behind her back and sat down with a relieved sigh. Boyd joined her and Isaac sat down in a chair next to them. That left Derek sitting in the couch opposite of them. ”The baby is just fine, Derek. We had our first ultrasound this Saturday, which I’m told Isaac told you when you stopped by.” There was a glint in Erica’s eyes that told Derek she knew what else had happened that day.

Boyd opened his wallet and gave Derek a picture of their twenty week old child. ”It’s a baby girl,” Boyd said proudly, and Derek had the feeling that he wasn’t the first person Boyd had bragged about this to. He was such a proud puppy.

“Wow,” Derek smiled, glancing down at the small photograph. “She’s beautiful,” he told them.

Erica scoffed. “Of course she is. These genes don’t fail,” she motioned to Boyd and herself. Derek laughed, and Erica smiled. He tried to give the photograph back to the proud parents, but Erica stopped him. “Keep it. We have plenty.” He laid it on the pillow beside him. “Now, what is it that I hear of you and a certain someone named…Stailes? Styles? What’s his name again, sweets?” Erica hinted.

Derek groaned, but corrected his friend. “Stiles. His name is Stiles. Or was... Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m probably never going to see him again so you can stop with the preaching I know you have in store for me.” Suddenly Derek thought his wooden floor was _very_ interesting. Huh, it had been a few days since he’d cleaned. He should get to that… Once he finishes the painting…And has his art exhibition…And finishes his moping…Yeah, then.

“Actually, I was going to do that part,” Isaac winked.

Erica pursed her lips at Derek. “And I had to find out from Isaac of all people, no offence hun,” she scolded.

“None taken,” Isaac replied, inspecting his nails with a fond smile.

“You couldn’t even tell your best friends what had happened, not even your very pregnant and very hormonal lady friend who knows ways to make you wish you never got absolutely buggered drunk that nigh two years ago and told us some _very_ interesting stories.” She paused for dramatic effect, that drama queen. “Boyd, sweets, you remember some of them, don’t you?”

Boyd grinned at his wife. “Well, there was that story about that snog you had with your very fit History teacher a couple of years back, what was his name again? Mr. O’Conn-“

“Okay, okay! We don’t need to go down good old memory lane right now,” Derek protested, giving in to his friends threats. The pregnant woman sitting on his couch grinned with pleasure.

He gave them the PG-15 version, slightly worried that quoting intimate Shakespearian lines about Stiles’ goddamn lips wouldn’t fair too well with his friends. That and they would probably mock him for the rest of his life. So he gave them the brief summary, enough information that Erica would be pleased, but not enough juicy details to satisfy her morbid curiosity.

They were all silent for a moment when he was done speaking, adjusting to all the new information in their friend’s life.

Then they all burst out laughing.

Derek scowled. When it didn’t seem like they were about to stop laughing within the next few minutes he stood up from the couch and walked into the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of newly brewed black coffee from the mug connected to his coffee machine. Once he was back in the living room they had fortunately stopped with the laughing, and Boyd was helping Erica fix her makeup which had apparently been smudged as she’d dried away tears from laughing so badly. Isaac had flushed cheeks and red eyes. Derek was very disappointed in him. Out of all of them he’d thought Isaac would have his back, after all Derek had told him first (of course Isaac kind of saw the entire thing and he’d been forced to explain it to him, but it was the thought that counted!)Et tu, _Isaac, et tu_ , he thought.

“You are all very horrible people. I have no idea why I’m friends with you.” He deadpanned.

“It’s because of my good looks,” Erica supplied, one arm around her belly, and the other one on Boyd’s knee.

“My charms,” Boyd snickered, and gave Derek a wink.

Isaac shrugged at them all, fake serious. “I give good head.”

That set them all off again, including Derek this time. Several minutes went by before they were able to speak properly again.

Erica rubbed at her eyes, wincing. “I really need to stop wearing mascara if I’m going to start crying all the time.” Isaac handed her a tissue from where he was sitting next to her. She took it silently, wiping away the traces of mascara from under her eyes. “Now that you’ve successfully managed to distract us with the rom-com clishé of a meeting with your new boy-toy,” she started. “Which, _really_ , Derek? First the kissing with a complete stranger on the street, and _then_ the snowing for the first time in over ten years?” She sounded baffled, which was for Erica a very rare thing.

“My theory is that you’ve somehow gotten cursed by a witch that has sent you into an alternative universe where you are the plot of a teenage romance novel, because that is the only thing I have to describe all of this.” As always, Boyd was a _lot_ of help.

Derek stuck his tongue out at his best friend. Yes, he was that childish.

“But really dude,” Isaac began. “He’s your muse? He’s the reason you’re painting again?” His long hands pointed at Derek’s painting smeared clothes.

He was about to say something, but then stopped. “Wait, I never told you that. How did you know that, Isaac?”

The blonde gave a Cheshire like smile. “From the moment I saw you two making out in front of the shop I knew you were smitten with him. Even though you’d only known him for a few minutes,” he added when Derek was about to protest.

“Well, do you deny it?” Erica butted in. Derek’s open mouth closed in a thin line. This was apparently all the confirmation Erica needed, and she winked at him. “Thought so.”

“I wasn’t done,” Isaac pointed out, but Erica only kept smiling at Derek, the kind of smile that made him think that he really should start planning an exit way out of his own apartment, because something was clearly going on. “And also, did you get a look at yourself after Stylies left?”

“Stiles,” Derek commented automatically. This of course only made Erica’s smile wider. Then he was suddenly remembered how Stiles’ nose had wrinkled when a snow flake landed on it, and Derek probably looked like the most stupid man on earth right then, with his cheeky smile. Even Boyd was looking at him with an innocent smile on his face, like he couldn’t believe that this day had finally come. Whatever “this day” was. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

“That!” Isaac pointed out, his hands gesturing to Derek’s face. “That was how you looked the entire time after he’d left. Like you were some kind of love sick puppy.” Derek kept staring, smiling. “Guys, I’m afraid we’ve lost him,” he sighed dramatically, and lowered his hands to his sides.

There was a small bright light covering the room, and a _click_ noise. This brought Derek out of his semi-trance. “What are you doing?”

“Did you get it, did you get it? Please tell me you got it,” Erica pleaded with Boyd, pulling at his sleeves. Boyd turned his phone around and Erica let out a happy squeal at what she saw there. “This is _so_ going on Facebook. You look so adorable, Derek-boo!”

He frowned.” First of all, never call me that ever again, second of all, that,” he pointed to the phone, “is never going on Facebook or any other social media.”

Now it was Erica’s turn to frown. “Okay, then we can talk about the fact that this Stiles person has apparently become your muse, and that you’ve spent the weekend locked in your apartment,” she stopped to sniff the air, grimacing, “which stinks of old air and takeout food, by the way, painting, when your art exhibition is in a few days, and I’m guessing you want this piece in it.”

He silently cursed himself for having such smart friends.

“It’s supposed to be the main attraction, actually.” Now that he thought about, he really hoped that Laura had survived her chat with Miss. Martin where she was supposed to tell her the bad or good news depending on whose side one saw it from. From Miss. Martin’s it was most definitely bad news. He made a mental note to call his sister later, just to make sure she isn’t laying dead in a ditch somewhere, stabbed with Miss. Martin’s long designer heels.

He opened his phone and took a look at the calendar, seeing the little amount of days he had left until the big opening. “And that means that I have only a few days to get this painting finished, dried up, and framed. That’s why I haven’t really been that communicative lately,” he explained.

“And why your apartment smells like old socks,” Boyd added.

“And why my apartment smells like old socks, yes thank you for that image, Boyd.”

His friend laughed, and Derek chuckled.

Standing up, Isaac spoke. “I guess we’ll leave you too it, then.” The others started standing up as well. Derek followed them to the door, where Erica stepped forward and gave Derek a kiss on his cheek.

“Try to get some sleep, will you?” Her fingers traced his growing stubble. “You look like shit, but I’m glad you’ve found your muse, Derek, and that you’ve started painting again. You may not see it right now, but it’s a good look on you, sweets.” He hugged her, being careful with her stomach. “Even though you stink like death,” she whispered into his ear, and Derek pushed her away playfully.

Boyd gave him a pat on the back, a small “good luck, bro”, and then he followed his wife out the door.

Isaac also hugged him. “I’m proud of you, dude.” He ruffled his slick hair. God, Derek _really_ needed to shower. “Now, go work on your painting to declare your undying love for your boy-toy. Oh, and answer the phone when we call so that we know you’re alive and haven’t died of painting poisoning or something.”

Derek smacked Isaac hard on his butt on his way out, just because his friend could be a brat sometimes.

The first thing he did when they had all left was to take a long, hot shower. The second thing he did was to fall asleep naked on his bed, just remembering to turn on his alarm for the morning before unconsciousness took over.

 

**********

 

Of course, on Monday morning, Stiles was late for work. That was why Matt started laughing when he saw Stiles practically tripping into the bookstore with two coffees in hand and a shoulder bag over his side, cheeks flushed.

Matt restrained himself from asking why Stiles was late for work, or just why his friend was acting weird all morning long, especially when he started stocking books in the wrong order.

Matt stopped what he was doing, finally having had enough. “Okay. Stiles, buddy, what’s going on with you today?”

Stiles frowned at him. “What do you mean?” He mindlessly lifted a Jane Eyre book and put it in the science fiction shelf. Matt wanted to face palm himself.

He stopped Stiles with a hand on his arm. “This is what I mean.” He waved the book around. “Since when are Jane Eyre books categorized as science fiction? And you’ve been jumpy all day. I don’t know if you’ve drunk too much caffeine or what it is.”

Stiles shook his head, smiling. “I’m just happy I guess. And yes, I may have drunk your coffee as well as mine, sorry.” He smiled sheepishly, suddenly going into dreamland. But Matt recognized that type of smile.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” He asked when Stiles was shelving another book, and the book dropped to the floor with a _thunk_.

His friend looked up at him with wide eyes. Matt would probably have found it hilarious if he hadn’t been that interested in knowing who Stiles’ new affiliation was. Okay, scratch that, he still found it funny. “Wha –What makes you say that, Matt?” Stiles actually stuttered. This was _way_ better than he thought.

He laughed, clapping Stiles on the shoulder. “Dude, you are so whipped. I can see it in your eyes.”

Stiles’ eyes widened more, if that was even possible.

“See what?”

“L. O. V. E.” Matt spelled, pinching Stiles confused cheek before going back to the cash register. So far there hadn’t been that many people in their bookstore. Monday mornings were dreadful to most people, even the book lovers. Illuminated Pages wasn’t a terribly busy bookstore, but it paid their bills and gave them the chance to meet a lot of interesting people. When he and Stiles had first started the store it had only been meant as a starting business of sorts to get them some experience within the market, but they had quickly fallen in love with the entire store and decided to keep it. They had expanded the store though.  A small café by the desk had been added, and they’ve gotten more chairs and tables so that there was the possibility to sit down and have a little bite to eat or drink while people read their bought books or skimmed the many hundreds of new books found in the store. They even had a small old-looking chest filled to the brink with books that the customers can sit and read for free in case they don’t want to buy a book. Matt knew that it was perhaps an odd kind of book store, but he couldn’t imagine it any other way.

Stiles had apparently gotten out of his trance when another customer entered the store, signalized by the chiming of a small bell. He almost tripped on the flat wooden floorboards in order to get over to Matt. “What do you mean by love? You can’t just say stuff like that and just walk away. My fragile heart can’t take that kind of stress, man.”

Matt snorted. “Fragile heart, right.” He shook his head, greeting the old woman that entered with a small “Good day. Please tell me if there’s anything I can help you find, ma’am”.

His arm was held in a tight grip as soon as the old woman had wandered into the stacks of shelves filled with all sorts of books. “Tell me,” Stiles pleaded with hopeful eyes.

“Look, man, all I’m saying is that I recognize when someone is completely smitten with someone. There’s a certain gaze that they have, and you my friend, have it.” He shrugged.

Stiles groaned, dragging his hands over his face in frustration.

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Yes,” Matt said at the same time as the old woman, who had apparently been listening in on their conversation, said, “It really is, m’dear. I had the same look when I married my sweet Wilson back in the day, god bless his poor soul.” Matt gave the old woman one of his famous smiles, and looked at Stiles as if saying “see, I’m not the only one”.

Stiles seemed uncomfortable for a second. “Um, I’m sorry for your loss, madam.”

She looked startled. “I beg your pardon? Oh no son, I’m afraid he’s not dead yet, unfortunately.  One day his time will come, I suppose. Been getting on my nerves for over sixty years, he has, that wicked man.” She placed a paperback book on the counter. “I’ll have this, please.”

Matt grinned at the woman, silently hoping that she would come again. He felt like they would make great friends – they had the same taste in men, after all. Stiles, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to jump out the nearest window.

Matt hoped he wouldn’t use any of the windows at their bookstore. Proper window glass was so hard to buy these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to take the time to say thank you to each and every one of you who are reading this story. I really appreciate all of the support and love! (: You make me want to be a better writer, so thank you for that <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson scoffed at Stiles, taking another bite of his muffin like what he had just said didn't half-way put Stiles into cardiac arrest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy, and thank you all for the very amazing feedback on this silly little story! Among all of the fandoms I've been a part of I think I can honestly say that the Teen Wolf fandom is one of the most welcome fandoms there is, and that’s a part of the reason why it’s such a joy to post new chapters for you guys <3
> 
> Please tell me if you find any grammar errors and I’ll fix them up straight away :)

Normally when the small bell at the entrance door of Illuminated Pages clanged to signalize that a customer was entering, Stiles would drop everything he had to welcome whoever had entered his store. He had always found that customers liked a kind welcome, so that they knew he was there in case they needed any help finding something, but not so that they felt like he was too clingy. Approachable, but kind. At least, that was what he had learned from personal experience. He had on several occasions met shop workers that more or less followed him around the store to ask him if he needed anything every 1.5 minutes. Those experiences only made him want to slap them in the head with a heavy law book, hoping to beat some common decency into them.

Of course, Stiles being Stiles, would never hurt anyone intentionally, not really. Except spiders (and that clown from his 6’th birthday party. God, whoever thought it was a good idea to bring a tall ginger guy with an exceeding amount of make up on his face that made him look like a Joker wannabe to a birthday party could quickly go step on some small Legos thank you very much. Stiles had nightmares of that night all the way up to his 9’th birthday). Stiles had learned how to act around his costumers so that they didn’t feel the need to slap him over the head with a heavy law book to beat some common decency into him. But, when the loud chiming sound clang through the air Wednesday afternoon Stiles was inside the shop’s storage room, or as Stiles liked to call it, “the cave”, with his upper body bent over piles of books as he tried to get a hold of a book stabled in the furthest corner of the room.

“Matt!” he called, making sure his friend welcomed their customers. From the corner of his eye he could see Matt poking his head through the halfway open door of the cave, snorting at Stiles’ ridiculous position where he was trying not to knock over the stable of books in front of him while he reached for the book in the corner.

“I got it,” Matt confirmed happily, walking back to the front of the store where the till was. Matt was the best, Stiles concluded.

He continued his ministrations, bending carefully ninja style over the pile of cliché covered romance novels to reach over to get that darn book a nice young girl had asked for, but that they unfortunately didn’t have on the shelves. Stiles should know better than to go into the cave to get it for her. Matt was the one in charge of the cave and he had his own system for it, which apparently included piling books up all over the room so that it looked like the freaking cover art of the Maze Runner, not a shelving room in a small bookstore.

He was a thumb’s width away from the spine of the book, the red cover of the book mocking him with its bright color, when a sharp “Stiles!” came from his left.

He jumped slightly at the sudden voice, lost his footing on the wooden floor and fell over the pile of books he had spent the past five minutes trying to avoid bumping into. Almost as a chain of dominos lined up and ready to go, the first pile of books fell on top of the second, creating a line of books that fell down from their tables so that when it finished, two thirds of the cave was scattered over the floor.

A heavy book – probably a dictionary – fell on top of his stomach where he was laying on the floor covered with books, and he wheezed out a sharp breath. “I got it!” He exclaimed with a groan, holding up the red covered book over his head. “Victory!” Stiles whimpered at the stinging of a sharp edge of a book against his side and turned his head to see who was to blame for making him ruin Matt’s entire system. Oh god, Matt was going to be _pissed_. His shelving system in the cave was practically his baby.

The frowning face of Lydia Martin was the first thing he saw staring down at him.

“Mercy,” he uttered weakly as she grabbed a hold of his arm and pulled him up from the mess of books. When he was in a vertical position again with all of his limbs intact (yes he checked), he saw that Jackson Whittemore, Lydia’s fiancé and boyfriend of, well, basically always, was standing by the door to the cave, laughing at the screen of his phone because he probably took pictures of Stiles’ fall into doom. Pictures that was most likely going to be used against him in the near or distant future in a humiliating way. Stiles cursed himself and made a mental note to steal Jackson’s phone and delete those pictures.

Behind the over confident man stood Matt, who looked over the mess Stiles had caused with furious eyes. Stiles even saw one of Matt’s eyebrows twitch, and that meant business. He acted quickly (and impulsively, which was the Stiles Stilinski way), grabbed a hold of Lydia’s manicured hand and dragged her through the open area in the door where Matt no longer stood, having stepped into the room to get a closer look at the damage.

Jackson gave a small “Ey!” but followed suit, leaving Matt inside the cave alone.

When they reached the center of the store Stiles gave the book he was holding to the girl that sat waiting in the reading area and told her that it was probably wise to wait a few minutes before buying it because the co-owner of the store woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning and might be in a bit of a mood. He shouted a small “I’m going on a break,” and he heard a string of muffed curses come from the cave before he ushered Jackson and Lydia out of the store with his jacket in hand before Matt could come after him.

Mission accomplished.

 

**********

 

Their chosen hiding place was the bakery across the street from Illuminated Pages, which ok, it was not perhaps the best hiding place, but Stiles was in the mood for some treats while he was on his break, and nothing appealed to his stomach like some freshly baked goods by the lovely Mrs. Hendricks herself, the lady who owned the bakery Stiles, Lydia and Jackson were currently sitting in.

“I love you,” Stiles moaned in unison with his stomach’s rumbling as Mrs. Hendricks gave him his order.

“Oh Mr. Stilinski, how you flatter me,” Mrs. Hendricks commented from behind the disk. She mockingly bent over and gave Stiles a small perfumed kiss at the cheek. “I’ll have you know I’m a married woman.” Stiles knew. That didn’t mean he was going to stop with the teasing anytime soon. Besides, Mrs. Hendricks was about the same age as his mother would have been if she was still alive, and she was like a distant relative that always gave him sweets and a pinch on the cheek every time she saw him. That and Stiles was gay, of course, so their sweet talking was nothing but old friends teasing each other.

“Yes, and your husband is right here, you know!” A voice called from the back room of the bakery, where Mr. Hendricks was baking. “Stop flirting with the costumers!”

Mrs. Hendricks scoffed, even though her husband was in the other room and couldn’t see it. “Oh hush you, I’m just having a chat with a friendly fella. Don’t you go putting on your Husband voice now after all these years,” she called back to her husband. There was a string of muttered words coming from his direction, but she ignored them with a small smile and turned back around to Stiles again. “Don’t you mind him, son. He’s just a little bit cranky because he didn’t get any this mornin’,” Mrs. Hendricks whispered to Stiles over the counter and winked at him teasingly. She looked around in the room. “Now, you better get going, those friends of yours are looking a bit like they stepped out of the wrong side of the bed this mornin’.” Mrs. Hendricks squeezed Stiles’ hand and went back to serving the rest of her costumers that, like Stiles, had a sweet tooth for Mrs. and Mr. Hendricks’ baking.

Stiles carried the tray back to his table, where two slightly annoyed faces were looking up at him. He immediately sat down. After a couple of seconds with complete silence from his friends he lifted a paper bag in their direction. “Croissant, anyone?” he asked as casual as he could muster.

After all Stiles didn’t know why he had been brought here (or, well, he had brought them there, but potato, patato), and could think of no reason why his friends were looking at him suspiciously like that. Perhaps this was about that time he scratched up Jackson’s Porsche a couple of months back with his keys, on accident of course.

The scratching had nothing to do with the fact that Jackson was acting like a complete douche that particular day (if not always), and Stiles just happened to see Jackson’s car parked outside his house and a bicycle key itching to be used. Nope, nothing like that at all. Besides, Jackson couldn’t have known it was Stiles. He had no proof. So that was what he told him.

“You have no proof!” he blurted out, holding his paper bag of croissants protectively against his chest as if Jackson would separate him from Stiles’ delicious sustenance of baked goods.

Jackson looked surprised at him, raising a single neatly shaped brow as if that action alone would give him the answer to the mystery that was Stiles Stilinski. “Proof of what? What the hell are you talking about Stilinski?”

This time it was Stiles’ turn to raise a surprised brow. “About your Porsche,” he started, “and its connection with what might or might not be the key to my bicycle?” At the end the sentence sounded less like a statement and more like a question.

Jackson straightened in his chair, both eyebrows furrowing with a newly formed anger. “My Porsche? What the hell have you done to my baby?!”

Lydia, who had been inspecting her nails up to this point, rolled her eyes and placed a hand on Jackson’s bicep. “Calm down sweetie, nothing is wrong with your Porsche, he’s just being the usual Stiles.” Jackson seemed to calm down at her words, and Lydia gave Stiles a small wink once Jackson was looking in another direction.

Stiles breathed out steadily now that the terror of Jackson Whittemore was over. Not that he would not have been able to take Jackson on in a fight, he totally could. Or so Stiles convinced himself of on a weekly basis.

“Now that we have some testosterone let out, how about we talk about what we’re really here for, huh?”

Jackson stood up from his chair and Lydia gave him a sturdy look. “What? I’m not sitting here chatting with you when there are deliciously smelling baked goods a few feet away.” He muttered something about “muffins” and “need something to eat if I’m going to keep up with those two” as he walked to the queue in front of the cashier, but Stiles paid him no mind.

“So,” Stiles began, “what brings the wondrous Lydia Martin - soon to be Lydia Martin Whittemore – to these parts of town?” He took a bite of his croissant, nearly moaning at the delicious taste of French bakery at its finest.

Lydia sat back in her chair, long slim legs crossing over each other and a white and red floral dress covering her from the middle of her thigh and up. She had a grey suit jacket on that gave Stiles the impression that she had just come from work. Then he remembered that is was a Tuesday, so of course she had been at work. He was actually surprised to see Lydia there. Ever since she graduated from Cambridge (with honors, of course), she had started in the event planner business. She even had her own company, and boy was she a force to be reckoned with. Lydia was one of the best in her occupation in their part of the country, and a much sought out woman. She had always been very secretive and private about her clients, which Stiles had been told varied from supermodels to Tom Hiddleston (not that it was very reliable information because his source was Scott, and Stiles had stopped trusting every blank think Scott said to him ever since he was twelve and Scott told him that Santa Claus didn’t exist. Which Stiles found out was a lie after he received presents signed “From Santa Claus” each Christmas after that. As a matter of fact, he still did, which he found a bit weird, but never really gave it much thought because _presents_ ). Because she was so constantly busy with her job he had rarely seen her while she was working, except for the occasional lunch break now and then. It just made him more wary of why she was meeting with him that Tuesday midday.

She looks at Stiles with a sweet smile. “I talked to Allison yesterday after work.” Stiles immediately stilled and gave out a small groan, sinking down in his chair.

“Whatever she told you, it is lies! All of it, _lies_!”

Lydia tisked at him. “Is it really? Because I heard from my best friend that you have had a very interesting weekend indeed.” She grabbed a nail file from her purse and started gracefully to file her middle nail. “She told me that you had a little run in with a certain someone rhyming with Merek Dale. Any of that sounding familiar?” She was giving him a stare now, and Stiles willed himself not to cower. He was a grown man dammit, Lydia didn’t scare him anymore. Again, that was what he told himself. His friend could be terrifying on a good day. “But I thought to myself; no, that can’t be the same Stiles’ we’re talking about. The Stiles’ I’m friends with would never keep anything like that from his best gal. Especially not one who has enough blackmail material on him to scar him for life.”

She filed her middle finger with preciseness, and it really looked like she was giving him the finger. Which Stiles was about 100% sure of that she was in fact doing.

He took another bite of his croissant, hoping that it would anchor him enough to last out the conversation. “What do you have to say for yourself?” Lydia asks.

Stiles shrugged, playing it cool. “It’s my life. If I had wanted you to know straight away I would have told you.”

From behind them a small “oh burrrrrrn” could be heard and Stiles knew it was Jackson who was apparently listening in on their conversation. Lydia flipped the bird at her fiancé.

“Besides,” Stiles continued, “you’ve been so busy with work lately and I know this particular client you’re working on, whose name you insist on keeping a secret like always, has been stressful, so I didn’t want to distract you from your work.” Lydia’s eyes softened and she leaned back in her chair.

“This pretty little head has an IQ of 170, I think I can handle one of my closest friends gossiping a bit about a very world artist he practically had _public sex_ with.”

Stiles winced. “It was more like dry humping than anything,” he said, remembering how well Derek’s body had fit against his, but Lydia ignored him.

“But, as a matter of fact I’m not here to guilt trip you.” She straightened out her dress with her fingers (not that it was needed, she looked as perfect as always) and moved her chair closer to the edge of the table, leaning over it to speak more personally with Stiles who was on the opposite side. “As a matter of fact, I bring glad tidings,” she teased with a well preformed British accent. Stiles gave out a little laugh. It had been his and Lydia’s thing to sometime speak to each other like they were living in the middle of a Jane Austen novel, and no matter how many people looked at them strangely (yes, Jackson was one of those people), they continued doing it. They also had a strict rule that every Halloween they would dress up in different historical clothing and go around acting out silly scenes.

“Well then ma’am, do continue.”

She moved closer to him so that they were only inches apart. To others who walked by it might have looked like they were having an intimate moment, but to them it was simply their way of talking without anyone else nosing around in what they were saying.

“You know that client I’ve mentioned to you? The man with the art exhibition?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, how could I forget the unidentified man you’ve been working with for weeks and sending me annoying text messages about.” He gives her a pointed look. “Thanks for sending those messages at three am by the way. I didn’t get any sleep after that _and I had work that morning._ ”

Lydia waved the matter away. “Never mind that, what I’m about to tell you is much more important than your lack of sleep for one night.”

“Hey!” Stiles commented. “Rude.”

A tray was put down on their table and Jackson sat down, stuffing his mouth full of a chocolate chip muffin. “Has she told you yet? The big plot twist?” he said with a full mouth, barely getting the words out.

Wait, what? “What on earth are you talking about?” Stiles narrowed his eyes and again wondered what his friends were trying to tell him.

Jackson rolled his eyes and swallowed the food. “Lydia’s client and your new boy-toy, how they’re the same person? My god Stilinski, haven’t you’ve been paying attention?” Jackson scoffed at him, taking another bite of his muffin like what he had just said didn’t half-way put Stiles into cardiac arrest.

Lydia punched Jackson’s arm annoyingly. “I hadn’t gotten that far, idiot. Now you completely ruined my moment. I had a speech prepared and everything.” She pouted. Jackson apologized to her and promised to make it up to her while Stiles was just sitting there, making no heads and tails of their conversation.

“W-what? You know Derek?” Stiles stuttered, trying to calm his beating heart.

Lydia nodded, smiling sheepishly. “He’s my client.”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME DEREK HALE WAS YOUR CLIENT?!” Stiles shouted at her, hands twitching in the air in motions he didn’t know he could make.

The entire bakery grew silent at his outrage. In the corner of his eye he saw Mrs. Hendricks staring daggers into Lydia and Jackson’s heads as if she was a few seconds away from grabbing the nearest rolling pin and smacking their heads with it for upsetting him. Stiles found that strangely comforting.

“Well, I didn’t know you knew Derek before yesterday evening, did I? I came as fast as I could, Stiles.” Stiles found himself calming down from his outburst at her words. Around them the chatting returned to its previous level of noise.

“Okay, so why are you telling me?” He asked, remembering her strict no-tell rules about her clients.

“I’m telling you because I’ve spent months arranging Derek’s art exhibition to perfection, and because I have a plus one ticket to the first exhibition he’s had since his teens that I need to have filled.” She gave Stiles one of her cheshire grins. “And I think I’ve just found my date.”

 

**********

 

It was Wednesday morning when Laura knocked on Derek’s door and he received a smack at the back of his head when his sister saw him standing in his boxers, yawning at her appearance at the door. “This is the second time this month!” Laura shouted at him. “If you weren’t my little brother and I hadn’t been raised by our parents not to hit younger people I would have punched you by now.”

Laura was of course talking about their scheduled breakfast that he had again forgotten about. Apparently, by Laura’s calculations, for the second time this month.

Derek rubs the spot she smacked him. “That wasn’t hitting me?”

She scoffed. “Oh please, stop being so dramatic.” She walked into his bedroom, talking at the same time. “I know you’ve been stressed out by the gallery exhibition, meeting your one true muse – and _yes_ , Erica told me,” she said before Derek could get a word out. Erica, that traitor! He said so out loud.

Laura gave Derek a stare. “Well, she wouldn’t have to betray you by going behind your back to talk to me if you had just picked up the phone and told me it yourself, would she?” She pulled back his bedroom curtains and Derek hissed at the sharp light. He had, after all, only woken up two minutes previous and was not at his top shape with his bed hair, wrinkled black boxers and sore eyes. He probably even had morning-breath.

“Now, you’re going to get dressed and you’re coming with me back to our parents’ house. They want to see you, and Mom’s making pancakes, your favorite.” She winked at him. “And take a quick shower while you’re at it, will you. You stink.” Derek covered her sly smile by throwing one of his dirty pants at her, and her annoyed screams of his name followed him all the way into his bathroom.

 

**********

Derek was greeted at his childhood home by two ecstatic five year olds that jumped up on him and held on like he was their favorite monkey bar. Uncle Peter’s and Aunt Sindy’s twins, Melanie and Kelly, were apparently also fans of Derek’s mother’s pancakes. Derek laughed at their happy shrieking (apparently it had been a surprise that Derek was coming for family breakfast that morning) and placed both of them on his shoulder, one child on each, as he entered the house. The air smelled like cooked bacon, bacon and orange juice, and as he moved further into the house and into the living room, Laura behind him, he could see just why. Someone had laid the table with enough food for a dozen people and around it sat Derek’s family, happily chatting away. Derek took a deep breath, muscles immediately relaxing at the feeling of home.

“Look what I found,” Derek announced happily and put the twins down on the floor. The same twins who were still impossibly beaming with joy at seeing Derek. The very sight made Derek’s heart soar. They ran into their parents arms, Uncle Peter putting Melanie up on his lap while Aunt Sindy did the same with Kelly.

His mom, Talia walked up to him and gave him a hug and a kiss on his cheek. “Derek, sweetheart, I’m so glad you came!” She put her hand around his shoulders and led him to his reserved spot at the dining table. “I’ve made you your favorite, pancakes.” She winked at him and sat down next to Derek’s father, Joshua, who gave him a small nod and a warming smile.

He greeted the rest of his family. His older brother Michael who was currently stuffing his mouth full of pancakes gave him a fond pat on the back. Damon, the youngest Hale brother barely even looked up at him, too engrossed in his current reading material to even notice his second oldest brother and oldest sister joining them. It wasn’t until Cora, the youngest child in the family, stepped on Damon’s foot under the table that he noticed the two familiar faces. Then he gave them both a big grin and put his book away guiltily. Cora on the other hand walked around the table to hug Derek properly before sitting down again. When he had greeted them all he placed a handful of pancakes on his plate and began to stuff his rumbling stomach until he was practically ready to collapse down at the nearest horizontal surface to sleep off his mother’s delicious food.

“I’m very excited for Saturday, Derek,” Derek’s father, Joshua said. “I trust you have everything in order for the big event?”

Derek saw Laura look at him expectantly over the table. “All of the preparations are done, but I’m still working on my main piece. It happened very quickly actually, I only started at it this Saturday.”

“Didn’t you already have a main piece for the exhibition? I thought you mentioned something to me about an old painting of yours you were going to use?” Cora asked.

“I did, originally, but I got some newfound inspiration and I want the piece I’m making now as the main attraction instead.” His eyes traveled the room, suddenly uncertain. “Actually, what I’m working on now is a painting as well.”

There was a moment of silence where they all seemed to take in what he had just said.

“Your painting again?” Asked Aunt Sindy, her voice slightly hoarse.

He nodded in confirmation.

“Oh Derek,” his mother said weakly from across the table, “I am so proud of you, my son.” She used her hand to wipe away a tear from her eye. “I think - no _I know_ that Jeremy would have been proud of you as well.” She looked at the creamy light that stood on the table, the one they always lit in memory of Jeremy every dinner they had together. There were small murmurs of confirmation around the table, but no one spoke for a little while.

“Did you know that Derek has found his muse?” Laura asked her family, breaking the sad tension that had filled the room. Derek cursed his sister name silently and sunk down in his chair a bit, groaning.

“That’s why he’s painting again. He has an arner for his muse.” Laura smirked smugly.

“An arner?” Damon asked with an amused smile on his face.

“Art boner,” Laura said, and at the edge of the table Derek’s dad spit out the coffee he was drinking all over his empty plate. Both Uncle Peter and Aunt Sindy held their hands over their children’s ears as if to protect their children’s virtue, but by then it was too late, the five year olds had already heard the word and was saying it over and over again.

“Arner, arner, arner, arner, arner…” they said between laughs. Derek thought if they had known the context of which it was originally spoken of they would probably stop singing the words over and over again over family breakfast. But unfortunately (or fortunately, because it would probably have scarred the sweet girls for life) they did not.

“Laura.” Derek groaned her name like it was a curse.

“Well,” his mother began, “I’m sure whomever your muse is, that he’s a nice man, and worthy of your affections.”

Derek wanted to strangle himself. Did his mother just say “muse” and “worthy of your affections” in one sentence? Derek was going to murder his big sister. First murder her and hide the body, then get another identity and move to Switzerland or something. Far, far away. Where no one could tease him about his crushes, and that they may or may not be the reason he is painting again.

Fuck his life.

There was some laughter in the northern region of the table, and Derek looked up to see Michael clenching his heart while laughing. “Der, you sure know how to set the mood,” Michael wheezed.

Derek grumbled out a small string of muffed words. “Stupid Laura’s fault.”

There was yet another small moment of silence, and then Cora said, “So, guess what I got on my Geology exam?” and the silence was over. Derek blessed the universe that he was related to sweet Cora, who could not subtly change the subject even if her life depended upon it, but who at least helped Derek out. Not unlike certain other family members that were laughing at his expense.

He reminded himself to give Cora a special Christmas gift this year for being such an awesome sister.

 

**********

 

The rest of breakfast  went smoothly, or as smooth as a breakfast with the Hales can get, and he got through it with all limbs intact and promises that his whole family would be there for Derek’s gallery exhibition that coming Saturday.

Derek was ecstatic as he entered his apartment, threw his keys in the bowl at the table by the door, and placed his winter jacket on a coat hanger. Breakfast hadn’t been that bad, not really. He’d had worse (and that was saying something). He loved his family, he really did, and he was used to their teasing ways. Still, he didn’t like to speak to them about his “muse”. He shook it head at the word, because it didn’t justify what Stiles was to him. Had been to him?

He didn’t know.

What he did know was that they’d had their moment together. Probably that kind of moment you tell your future children or friends about when they ask what the most unexpected thing that has ever happened to you was. Then he would tell them about that stranger that walked up to him and kissed him on the street, how it had started snowing the moment their lips touched, and how that encounter had opened him up to a lot of things, and had made him strangely happy.

Still, though, imagining himself adopting children with some man he currently didn’t know and telling them about his encounter with Stiles didn’t seem right to Derek. Some part of him, deep down, wanted Stiles to be that person he reminisced their first meeting with, and how it was the first day of the rest of their lives together.

He knew it was silly and extremely unrealistic. He couldn’t have Stiles. Stiles and himself were from two completely different leagues: Stiles was sociable, funny, silly and loving, and while Derek might be attractive, he was still scarred by the actions of a woman he had thought he loved years ago. He was certainly no match for a man like Stiles.

Besides, he should start getting over the small crush he had on the stranger he’d only known for the lesser part of a half-hour. He was never going to see him again, and he should let it go. Take a few days to brood over what could have been, and then get back to his regularly scheduled life.

Derek told himself this as he walked into his bedroom, ridding himself of his clothing to take a little nap in an attempt to sleep away the growing headache he had left over from breakfast that morning. As he laid down he could see his cock already half hard from all the thinking about Stiles, and he knew that it was wrong to jack off to a stranger he barely knew... He knew this, but as his right hand closed around his shaft, he really couldn’t make himself care.

He gave it a few light touches, trying to coax his cock to full hardness. Unfortunately his hand didn’t give him enough slickness, so he searched through his bedside drawer for the tube of lube he always kept there, popped the cap and squeezed some of it into his hand. He considered warming it up on beforehand but decided against it and rubbed it out on his cock, hissing at the cold touch.

The room filled with Derek’s quiet hitches of breaths and moans as he tightened his grip on his cock, moved his hand faster as he laid his head back on his pillow, hips automatically moving upwards against his tightly closed hand. He released a small moan as his thumb dragged over the head of his cock, and he imagined that it was Stiles’ hand on him, moving above him in hard motions that made Derek want to crane back his head and let Stiles _take_. He was sure that Stiles would take his time, tease him until he knew every way to make Derek scream out with pleasure. And Derek would let him. With much enthusiasm.

He placed his feet on the mattress so that they were angled enough that he could use his left hand to get to his ass, a finger circling his puckered hole, slightly pressing in with a finger wet from the residue lube as his other hand tightened on the upstroke, making Derek keen and his hips stutter into his warm slick hand automatically. He could practically see Stiles in front of him; Stiles on his knees sucking him off; Stiles inside Derek, fucking his body open one firm thrust at a time. He imagined pinning him down with his strength and taking him against a wall or a bed – their bed. Derek wanted it all.

Derek slicked up his fingers with his mouth, licked on them and imagined that Stiles’ cock was in his mouth, hard and flushed member begging to be sucked down to the core until finally Derek let Stiles come in his mouth, or perhaps all over his face. The licking continued until he was sure that his fingers were slick enough to breach him, and he pressed inside, one finger at a time, hissing at the sensation of being stretched. By now his cock was fully erect and flushed at the tip where beads of pre-come were starting to collect, his hand moving twitchily over his sensitive cock in the need to come.

Quickly one finger turned into two, and by the time he was scissoring himself open with three fingers he was a whimpering mess of sweat and pre-come. His fingers moved in a “come hither” motion, searching until he finally found what he was looking for, hips clamping down at his fingers up his ass, letting out half hitched screams at the amazing sensation that put his body into overload.

Four touches over the same spot and half a dozen pulls on his cock later he came while screaming Stiles’ name out in the empty bedroom.

After a much needed nap and a trip to the bedroom to clean up his drying come, Derek stood naked with only a painting apron around his front body inside his atelier with a familiar brush in one hand and a well-used palette in the other. He thought of Stiles as he painted, letting himself put out all that he felt when the stranger had been around him on the canvas.

Derek was over halfway finished, and could see his work starting to look more and more alike the finished picture he had of it in his mind. The background was almost finished, a dark blue forest sky illuminated by a sharp full moon, and a small river running through the open area at the edge of the forest where he had begun painting the shape of a body kneeling by the water. He was still thinking on a name for it, tasting several ones out on his tongue, but no one seemed quite right. Derek was sure it would come eventually, and when it did it would be just right. Perfect, even.

When he was done with it he would put it as his main piece at his exhibition, a last pathetic attempt to somehow show his feelings for the stranger to the rest of the public, then it would – hopefully – be sold and he could stop being fixated on the attractive man with the strange name. Though, as he glanced up at the painting from where he had stepped away from it to mix colors on his palette, he knew it would be a harsh goodbye to make.

 

**********

 

Stiles would consider Scott a patient man. He had always been there through all of Stiles’ long rants when he was a teenager and had taken a bit too much Adderall, or if he had simply gotten a bit more sugar in his system than strictly necessary. Scott might have dosed off in some cases, or halfway paid attention to Stiles while sexting Allison on his phone, but it’s the thought that counts in this case. So, Stiles thought that they had a high level of patience for each other in their friendship

Apparently, that patience was something that had limits, which Stiles found out as he called Scott for the seventh time that Wednesday afternoon.

“What?” Scott asked weakly.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this. Like seriously, you would tell me if you think it’s stupid, right? Well, of course you would, you’re my best friend. And you would never say that I’m stupid straight to my face. Except that one time when you were drunk and told me that I had a stupid face and my socks smelled. But I’m just so worried. Or exited. I can’t really tell which one. I guess a bit of both? Because I’m going to see him again, and I never thought I would. I thought it was just a one-time deal. And what if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he just thinks of me like the crazy guy who came up to him and kissed him against his will publicly. Oh god,” Stiles groaned, “what if he calls the Police on me and I get arrested and end up in jail. I can’t end up in jail, Scott. I’m not jail material. Jail will change me. And I can’t do jail showers either because what if I lose my soap and have to bend down to grab it. Everyone knows what happens when you bend down to grab soap in the showers in jail. _Everyone_ , Scott.”

“Oh for gods sake, Stiles, you won’t end up in jail! And you won’t get arrested for public indecency either! Now, go to the kitchen and throw a glass of cold water at your face until you’ve calmed down about seventy percent, then sit down before you have a panic attack.” Stiles raised an eyebrow at Scott’s stern tone, but did what he said anyway.

Stiles whimpered over the phone, but the sound of a large splash of water and then some hissing from Stiles’ side told Scott that he’d done what Scott had told him to do.

“I don’t want to be raped in jail because I picked up a piece of soap in the showers, Scott,” Stiles said weekly while sitting down on his couch with a wet t-shirt. He decided that he’d leave it on. The cold and wet fabric against his skin helped him think more clearly.

His best friend sighed over the phone. “You won’t. You’ll meet this guy you’re so smitten with and you’ll be your usual charming self and have him drooling at your feet in no time.”

Stiles frowned. “I don’t want him drooling all over my feet. I’d like him to do other things to my feet, though. Like massage them, kiss them or lube them up and try to make him come just by my feet touching him.” He gave Scott a loopy grin, even though his best friend couldn’t see him. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Whoah, that sentence turned sickening cute to just sickening in about .03 seconds.”

“I’ve always wondered how it felt like to get someone off with just my feet. I’ve been told I have great feet, you know.”

“Aaaaand, I’m hanging up on you now.”

“I think I have a kink, Scott.” Stiles said mostly just to tease his friend, but also because that scenario would be insanely hot. And it was true, he really did have a kink.

“Goodbye.”

That night Stiles teased himself open slowly and used his favorite vibrator to fuck himself on. The entire time he thought of how good it would have been to have Derek’s body up against him, Derek inside him, fucking him like it was his purpose in life, and Derek coming all over Stiles’ body, marking him up. And if any of his neighbors heard him scream out Derek’s name when he came after an hour of teasing himself wet and flushed, well, that was none of their goddamn business.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Laura put you up to this, didn’t she?” Derek asked, because there was no way his annoying sister didn’t have anything to do with torturing Derek through hours with shopping for formal wear with his pregnant best friend.
> 
> Erica smirked. “She might have left a tiny voicemail saying that it would be a good idea if I took you out shopping for tomorrow, and there might have been a small sum of money in it for me if I took pictures of you pouting in various suits, but I can neither confirm nor deny that of course.”
> 
> “Of course,” Derek sighed, defeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my darlings! How are you all? I have to thank you all for the incredible lovely birthday wishes I got in the comment section from all of you in the last chapter. You are all so fucking lovely, I just want to hug you all ♥
> 
> Enjoy the chapter, guys, and please let me know if there are any grammatical errors and I'll fix them up straight away :)

It was Friday around noon when Stiles had an epiphany. Stiles wasn’t normally a man of epiphanies, but this particular one came to him as he was stirring his cup of Earl Grey tea at the break room of Illuminated Pages while flipping through a random girls magazine (which all right, that might not be the perfect scenario to have an epiphany, but it was his epiphany ok, so he was allowed to have it wherever he pleased). As he randomly flipped through the magazine he took a sip of his tea and then violently spit it out all over the wooden break room table as he looked down on the page of the magazine he currently had open. _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuckety fuck_ , Stiles thought, and said so out loud.

Right on cue Matt walked in, took one look at Stiles’ frozen shocked face, the tea spilled on the table and sighed openly and loudly. “Why does this always happen to me,” Matt muttered and walked over to the cupboards by the sink and dishwasher section to get a roll of some paper towels which he promptly threw at Stiles’ still shocked face. The hit to his head seemed to break Stiles’ trance, something Stiles knew Matt was glad for. Matt could really could use an extra pair of hands to sort a freshly delivered stock of books into the shelves (and Stiles knew that if he was obviously distracted he would probably try to wrongly shelf all of the books again, and Stiles could only guess that Matt wasn’t in the mood to clean up his friend’s messes for the second time that week).

“What’s up with you, mate? Please tell me honest to god that you did not just spit out your tea all over the table.”

Stiles’ eyes squirted at him and then he looked at the mess he had made on the table. When he yet again came to look at the magazine in front of him he shot up from his chair, moving away from the table with awkward movements. He then looked at Matt who was watching him with calculative eyes. “Um, I will explain later, I promise. Right now I just have to go. Early lunch break!” He took his jacket from where it was thrown over his chair and put it on himself rapidly. When he had reached the door he stopped and turned around, giving the table another glance. “Do me a huge favor and clean up before the tea sets and ruins the table? Thanks!” Then he ran out of the break room and then out of the store leaving behind a most likely sighing and defeated Matt.

As he reached his car – which was parked right outside his store – he took his phone out of his pocket and pressed speed dial. The air in his car was cold enough that his breath condensated, which left behind white smoke that fogged up his windows as he breathed rapidly in the cold air.

“– yeah, just a second, all right. I have to take this,” Scott’s voice filtered through his phone and Stiles sagged in relief. He had picked up. “Stiles, my man, is everything all right? You usually don’t call me during work hours unless it’s an emergency.”

Stiles’ voice seemed to be unable to find itself and a moment passed where he only opened and closed his mouth with no words coming out. Then, “Clothes!” he shouted into his phone.

“Excuse me?” Scott pardoned, seeming a bit taken off.

“Clothes, Scott! _Clothes_! I just saw a commercial in a woman magazine about formal wear for men. They all looked so dashing and then I remembered. I had an epiphany Scott. I am going to meet Derek tomorrow, and _I need clothes_!” He punctuated those last words for emphasis. “Not the usual plaid and fandom related t–shirts. Lydia told me that the dress code was formal wear. Now, I’m guessing that means a white shirt, dress jacket, dress pants and perhaps a tie? Or is that too much? Maybe I should buy myself a bowtie. It’s all the range, or so I’ve heard from watching Doctor Who.” Stiles groans, hitting his head on his steering wheel in frustration. “I have no idea what to do. Or what to wear. Or what to say. Scott, I am _freaking out_. Help me.”

“You read a woman magazine?” His best friend asked sounding shocked.

“ARGH, if that was all you got out of that long monologue I am going to disinherit you. And do you know how I am going to do that, Scott? Do you?!”

“Um, no,” Scott answered fondly.

“I am going to kill you. Painfully and slowly. With a spoon. Yes, with a spoon because it takes longer to kill a person with blunt utensils but it also more painful. Don’t test my patience, Scott.”

Stiles could hear someone talking to Scott over the phone, addressing him as Doctor McCall, which made Stiles smile slightly because he had always found it hilarious that his coworkers called Scott by his medical title. If he were in Scott’s position he would probably have asked his coworkers to call him King Stiles or something equally as informal. Well, actually, when he thought about it he _had_ asked Matt to call him that once, but Matt had paid him no mind.

“Stiles, why are you threatening me with cold murder involving blunt utensils?” Scott asked, and in the background there was the sound of several dogs barking so Stiles could only guess that he was in the animal holding part of the veterinarian clinic Scott worked at.

“I don’t know, all right.” Stiles pulled at his hair with his cold fingers while sighing to himself. “I am just incredibly stressed right now.”

“Wow, you really do like this guy, don’t you?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you and Mrs. Argent–McCall. Also Lydia and Jackson. Or well, perhaps not Jackson. He is still a giant dick. I wouldn’t even tell him what I ate for breakfast this morning.” A sweet and delicious peanut butter jelly sandwich. Yumm.

“You know, if you need fashion advice to impress your bae, I’ll try to help as much as I can bro, but I’m really not the right guy to ask.” Stiles stilled for a moment in the driver seat of his Jeep, and realized that yes, Scott was completely right.

“Oh my god, you are so right. Why did I even call you? You once wore a Marvel and DC mix–up themed t–shirt, you are a _disgrace_!” Stiles judged.

“Hey!” Scott protested over the phone. “I’ll have you know my fashion sense has evolved since sixth grade, thank you very much.”

“Perhaps you’re right, but dude, no offence, you once wore a kilt to school that one time.” Stiles grimaced at the memory.

“It was _dress as someone from your family tree_ day in elementary school! _Elementary school_ , Stiles! Still, you know I’m like 15 percent Irish and very proud of it.”

“Scott, you wore a fake ginger beard. Together with a kilt. I was afraid to ask if you even wore underwear that day. I thought you were trying to tell me something involving yourself and a closet.” Stiles began drawing a stickman of Scott with a kilt and beard on the fog of his car window, laughing into the phone as he did so.

“What? No!” Scott protested in hushed tones over the phone. Stiles guessed that he had gone out of the animal holding part of the veterinarian clinic and was now in a place where he could not shout at Stiles like his heart most likely desired. “I was going as my great-great uncle Sean, Stiles you know this. You just came dressed in one of your dad’s way too big green police jackets, a light brown shirt, green pants and a fake sheriff badge you got as a prize in a cereal box!” Scott hissed furiously at Stiles. Over the phone it sounded mostly like a fat grumpy cat purring.

Stiles drew a frowny face on his drawing of tiny Scott in a kilt. “You know what I’ve been asking myself all of these years? _Where did he even get that kilt from?_ ”

“Stiles!”

“Also that horrid ginger beard and long ginger wig pulled up in a piggy tail. Did you keep that stuff in your mom’s attic because that is _precious_. You know what, I’m going to call your mom later and ask her. This has really been bugging me. I think it’s been bringing down my Zen.”

“ _Stiles!_ ”

Stiles laughed lively and fully.

“First of all,” Scott began, and Stiles was certain that he was holding his finger out for emphasis,” don’t you even dare call my mom and ask her that, and second of all, I thought we weren’t going to mention that episode ever again. We made a spit pact, Stiles. A _spit pact_.”

“Scotty, my man, those spit pacts has not counted since we were in elementary school. They were a “in the ages of 6 and 14 only” pact deal.”

“Hmm,” Scott mused. “So that means that one time where you spent a school recess hiding inside under your desk with a blanket and a sign saying “I PROTEST” because you were protesting against the teachers forcing us to go outside in the school playgrounds every recess, is something we can talk about now?” He said loudly and smugly over the phone. Stiles could just imagine Scott smirking, the bastard.

“Hush! If any of your coworkers heard that I am getting a hold of that spoon we talked about and I‘m not afraid to use it on you!” Scott’s coworkers loved Stiles. This was mostly because he often brought Scott baked good at work when he felt like it, and he never forgot to bake an extra batch and share with Scott’s coworkers.

But he liked to pretend they liked him for his sweet lookin’ behind.

Scott’s only answer to that was laughter, and Stiles didn’t really know what to make out of that. “All right, I need to go because I have work that needs to be done. One of our newly baked mother dogs was just brought out of anesthesia after having had a c–section, and I need to check on her and her five newborn puppies.”

“Puppies!” Stiles whined and made grabby hands in the air with the hand that wasn’t currently holding his phone. There was also another reason why he often stopped by Scott at work, which was to pet the animals. The veterinarian clinic was like a petting zoo to which Stiles had free access as long as he bribed Scott (and his coworkers) with baked goods.

“And why don’t you call Lydia for expertise help? I’m sure she would love to help!” Scott said happily and Stiles frowned.

“I hate you,” he told Scott, for Scott knew what happened whenever Stiles went on a shopping trip with Lydia: a huge amount of money got stripped from his credit card and he came home with at least twenty bags filled with expensive priced clothing that Lydia found “fitting to his physique” (her words, not his). It was even worse if he let her come into his bedroom at whatever given time because then she would open drawers and go through his wardrobe like it was her own, which 98% of the time lead to a huge bag of Stiles’ clothes being sent off to some do good charity, which Stiles wouldn’t normally be against, but when she put his favorite collectors t–shirt of Yoda into that bag, that shit became _personal_.

“You know you love me,” Scott sing–songed, and oh god, Stiles was absolutely certain he must have gotten that trait from Allison. With Allison it was all right, cute even, but with Scott it was just _wrong_.

“You sing–song horribly!” Stiles shouted into the phone weakly, but Scott had already hung up on him.

He sighed and rang the person he least wanted to ring in that moment. He would even rather call Jackson for advice. At least Jackson would simply tell him to fuck off, not take him on a several hour long shopping trip that would rob his credit card balance of a couple of zeros.

As Lydia picked up the phone with a happy and mischievous “Stiles!”, like she already knew what he would be calling about, Stiles regretted not telling Matt that he would be taking an extra–long lunch that day.

 

**********

 

The day before the exhibition Derek was a complete mess. His apartment looked like it had been dragged apart by a rhinoceros because Derek had been so completely filled with nerves that he could not even do his dishes properly, least of not take out the trash or vacuum between the sofa cushions.

All he could really think about was that tomorrow he was going to have his first exhibition ever as an adult. He had already had a small one when he was in elementary school, then another one in his early teens, so this would be his third one, but his first one without glasses and not dressed superhero themed t-shirts (even when his mother had forced him to wear one of his more fancy shirts for the exhibition, he’d still worn his lucky t–shirt underneath). When he was in elementary school almost all of the pictures in his exhibition were sold out within twenty minutes. His record was beaten the second time around, and now, with his third one coming up, he didn’t know whether to get his hopes up or down. It was actually pretty funny how he constantly compared his fame as a child to the one he had now as an adult. _Hillarious_.

Though, as fate would have it, Derek was not the only one who was anxious about the coming day.

“Dude,” Isaac said as Derek opened the door for him and Isaac walked inside. “How are you feeling? Are you feeling good? Are you anxious? I’m not. Not at all. I’m just excited. For you. All grown up and having your first exhibition as a proper adult. Makes me feel like a proud daddy.” Isaac circled around Derek as he said this with restless movements. “I am proud of you, you know. And tomorrow is a big day. So I wanted to come by and show my support. And show that I am not anxious for you at all. I have 120% faith in you.”

“That makes absolutely no sense, Isaac,” Derek said with both hands on Isaac’s shoulders to stop him from shuffling about.

“It really doesn’t,” Boyd agreed as he walked in Derek’s open front door with his hand around Erica’s waist.

“Great, more people,” he muttered as the gang went to sit down in his living room. “Don’t mind me, I just live here. Go ahead, walk right in.”

“Oh god,” Erica complained, covering her nose up with the sleeve of her winter coat. “It stinks like shit here, Derek. I thought I told you to clean this hellhole up, not make it look like someone’s broken in and left an exploding stink bomb in your living room.”

“It really does stink, Derek,” Boyd agreed.

“Yupp,” Isaac said from where he was plucking Derek’s clothes from where they were thrown across his couch. Derek shrugged. He had been meaning to do something about it, he just hasn’t had the time lately and he said so to his friends.

“Well, are you done with your main attraction for the exhibition?” Erica asked, trying hard not to wince as she took in how messed up Derek’s apartment looked like.

“Yes. I’ve sent it out to be properly framed yesterday, I’m supposed to pick it up in a couple of hours.”

His friend Dr. Deaton, a fulltime veterinarian and part–time art framer extraordinaire had gladly agreed to help Derek out.

_“Any child of Talia Hale is always welcome into my shop,” Deaton said, and that was that. He had helped Derek out before with framing some of his drawings and other works and had known Derek practically since he was a child, so he understood the need for discretion when it came to Derek’s art._

_“Here it is,” Derek said, removing the plastic folia he’d covered the picture with and setting the picture up on Deaton’s desk properly so that he could take a look at it. “I’m thinking a 12 centimeters width on the frame on all sides, and perhaps in a dark blue color. Also I know you have a special frame carver on your speed dial, so I was wondering if you could call him up and make a frame with this distinct pattern,” he put a ripped out paper from his sketchbook onto the desk, “with circa the same thickness as the painting itself.” When Deaton didn’t answer he looked up and saw him staring at Derek’s picture with a shocked expression almost like he was in awe. “What is it? Is something wrong?” Derek asked, and Dr. Deaton’s gaze on the painting broke._

_“You made this?” Deaton asked, and Derek only nodded in answer, a bit uncertain why Deaton was looking at him like he’d just solved one of the world’s biggest mysteries. “Derek, my boy, I’m afraid you’ve outdone yourself this time. It is absolutely stunning, and you know how rare it is that I comment on art at all.” Derek was only able to blush at the generous compliment. When Alan Deaton said something good about your art then you should take it to heart because it was a rare thing indeed. “Who is it, if you don’t mind me asking, you have painted here?” he asked curiously, but there was been a twinkle to his eyes telling Derek something he didn’t know how to interpret._

_“It’s no one,” Derek answered quickly and defensively. “Just…”_ The man I knew for no more than thirty minutes but that I feel like I have known my entire life. The man who has been driving me insane for the last week with his intoxicating physique in my dreams and whenever I am close to a canvas. The man that I will most likely never see again in my life. The man I want to kiss and hold close in the cold weather. The man who made it snow. _He wanted to say all of that, but what came out was, “Someone I used to know.”_

_Deaton’s eyes did that thing where they searched him with a skeptical gaze with one eyebrow raised high. He must have found whatever he was looking for because his eyes softened. “I see. Leave all your instructions here, and I will fix what you need fixed. Come back tomorrow afternoon and I’ll have it all done for you.”_

_“Thank you, Deaton. And here,” he used one of the pencils on the table to write an address and a time onto his paper. “Saturday at seven, I hope you’ll be there.” He gave Deaton a quick pat on the back and then made his way to the door. “Oh, before I forget, I also need a nameplate for the painting, silver with dark grey writing. The details are on the backside of the paper.”_

_Deaton turned the paper around and Derek saw the corner of his mouth curve upwards into a smile. “No problem, son, it will be done by tomorrow,” Deaton said, and that was the last of it._

Remembering the scene, Derek was still surprised with how curious Deaton had seemed with his inspiration for the main motive in the painting. Perhaps he had just not been expecting Derek to draw such a motive? Still, Deaton had known Derek since he was a child – being an old friend of his mother’s – so he knew Derek was gay and often painted male characters into his art more often than female ones. That’s why he didn’t really understand why he had acted the way he did. Possibly he –

“Hell _oo_ , earth to Derek Hale.” Boyd snapped his fingers in front of Derek’s face and Derek’s body twitched.

“What? Oh, sorry,” he apologized with a small grunt while shaking his head and gathering his thoughts. “What was it you were so kindly saying after having broken into my apartment _and_ eaten my food?” He eyed Erica with narrowed eyes and she stopped the current doughnut she had taken from Derek’s fridge only a few centimeters from her red chapped lips.

“What?” she asked accusingly when she saw the three men in the room looking at her. “I’m pregnant, I have needs that can only be filled with sweet delicious pastry.” Erica shrugged and ate the rest of the doughnut. “Besides, I’m going to need all of the energy If I’m going shopping with your extremely fine but fashion uncultured ass.”

Boyd gave her a look.

“You know I love your ass the most, munchkin,” she cooed teasingly at him. Boyd only huffed.

Derek stilled. “What do you mean “go shopping with me”? Why would I need to go shopping with you?”

Erica walked up to him and pinched his cheek. “You are adorable. You didn’t honestly think that we would let you wear one of your old suits for one of your biggest exhibitions ever? Oh please.” She sighed softly like he was a small adorable child that didn’t understand anything.

“Laura put you up to this, didn’t she?” Derek asked, because there was no way his annoying sister didn’t have anything to do with torturing Derek through hours with shopping for formal wear with his very pregnant best friend.

Erica smirked. “She might have left a tiny voicemail saying that it would be a good idea if I took you out shopping for tomorrow, and there might have been a small sum of money in it for me if I took pictures of you pouting in various suits, but I can neither confirm nor deny that of course.”

“Of course,” Derek sighed, defeated. It was just like Laura to put him up to this, but he _did_ need a new suit for tomorrow, he just wasn’t sure if going through hours of pregnant Erica talking fashion in his ear was worth it.

Erica walked over to his hallway closet and took Derek’s winter jacket out of it, as well as his wallet and keys to his car. “If you’re not out in your car within two minutes I am driving off and using your credit card to buy myself as much pastries as a pregnant woman could dream of!” Erica warned him with a happy tone and walked out of Derek’s apartment.

He looked at Boyd with a frightened look. “That woman is going to be a brilliant but scary as fuck mom.”

“I know, right,” Boyd answered with a smitten look in his eyes.

Derek shook his head while smiling. His friend was so whipped.

“You better go before she drives away without you,” Isaac let him know. “We’ll clean up here meanwhile.” His nose twitched as he looked around on all the work he had in front of him. “I’m glad I brought my iPod with me, this situation is going to need some sweet tunes to make up for all of the nasty work.”

A part of him melted at his friends kindness, but then he remembered what he was spending his next hours being dragged around doing , and he decided that he would much rather stay and clean up his horrid apartment than go on a shopping trip with Erica. Still, he was grateful for their help.

“This better be bloody worth it,” he muttered and took off before Erica could run away with his credit card, or worse, his precious car.

 

**********

 

“I look absolutely ridiculous,” Stiles commented as he walked out of the dressing room with a black and dark purple tuxedo on. Lydia made twirling motions with her hand from where she was sitting down on a couch in the waiting area of the current fashion store they were currently occupying. Stiles begrudgingly twirled.

“You are absolutely right. Purple is so not your color babe.” Lydia stood up and walked over to the saleslady, talking to her in hushed tones that Stiles couldn’t hear.

“Then why did you make me try on a bloody purple and black tuxedo in the first place,” he grumbled as he took of his suit jacket and loosened his black bowtie, sitting down on one of the fancy couches. They had been at it for two hours now, and Stiles was tired of stripping and trying on new clothes on commando every ten minutes. He deserved a break, dammit. He was a man, shouldn’t have to go around from store to store to try around clothing for hours early on a Friday. Or at any day for that matter.

Lydia walked over to him and basically shoved him into the changing room. “Go change. The salespeople here are absolutely incorrigible! I have one last store I want to visit. He’s a personal friend of mine, does miracles with Jackson’s clothing, formal and normal wear. I think he’ll be just what you need.”

“Why couldn’t we just have gone to him first then?” Stiles complained on the other side of the changing room door, words a bit muffled as he pulled the halfway unbuttoned shirt over his head.

Lydia laughed softly. “Did you really think I would make it that easy on you, Stiles? Oh you are precious indeed. I’ll be outside waiting in the car.” She made a clicking noise with her mouth. “Hurry up, fashion waits for no man!” she said happily and the sound of her heels clicking against the wooden floor followed after.

“Fashion waits for no man,” he mimicked with a bitter girly voice and pulled his pants down in an irritated movement.

“Hey, I heard that!” Lydia shouted.

Oops.

 

**********

 

The entire ride to their next destination was spent with Lydia partly complaining (gracefully as always, mind) about how Jackson had left his dirty boxers on the bathroom floor _again_ , and complaining about how much work she had on her hands after Derek had suddenly changed the main piece for his art exhibition almost one week previous. Stiles, who had been playing Tetris on his phone and mostly ignoring whatever Lydia said because he was still kind of pissed off at her for torturing him through several hours of trying on tight sitting suits when she already knew where to get him one stamped with Lydia’s approval, elegantly dropped his phone on the floor of Lydia’s car at her words. “Derek did _what_?!” he screeched at her.

Lydia eyed him in the inside mirror of the car while making a left turn in a cross Stiles couldn’t give two shits about, because _Derek news_. “Calm down Skippy, before you stretch a muscle.” She rolled her eyes at an oncoming slow car and took another left turn up another street Stiles again couldn’t give two shits about. “I said he changed the main piece for his exhibition. His sister called and told me on Saturday after I had been stood up for my meeting with Derek, that he had completely forgot about the meeting, _rude_ by the way, and had to reschedule for Monday morning. Then she casually told me that he was changing his main piece for the exhibition, and thereby changing the theme for the exhibition that I’d been working on for weeks, and basically fucking up whatever work I had done so far. Needless to say, I wasn’t pleased.” Her lips curled in a way that Stiles concluded meant Lydia was very pissed off.

He took a moment to gather all of the information he’d gotten. “Why would he go and change the main piece the week before his important exhibition?” Stiles wasn’t an expert on art and what not, but he was fairly certain that it was absolutely not good to change the entire theme of a carefully planned exhibition one week beforehand. He just didn’t understand why anyone would risk screwing up the entire thing for what, a last minute change of mind? What could possibly be so important?

“His sister said he was using a new painting he was painting as we spoke, and that’s when it became really interesting.”

Stiles’ eye twitched in suspense. “Yeeeeeees? And?”

Lydia took her eyes away from the road and looked at him for a moment. “Oh honey, you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“You’ve had one week to Google this man that you’re so smitten with that you’ve just spent several hours with me shopping just so that you can look brilliant when you meet again this Saturday, and you haven’t googled him at all?”

“Well, no. Allison divulged some facts to me, but other than that I haven’t read anything.”

“Why not? Here you have the ultimate opportunity to learn something about the man before you meet him again, and you haven’t taken it?”

The phone rattled on the car floor as Lydia pressed harshly at the breaks as a fast driving car suddenly pulled into her lane in front of them, and Stiles bent down to pick up his poor phone as Lydia silently cursed the car in front of them. He put the phone back in his pocket and sat back in his seat while taking a deep breath. “I don’t want to learn anything about him beforehand,” Stiles started. “It doesn’t matter to me that he’s famous, that’s not what I care about. Why should I have the advantage of knowing stuff about him just because he’s well known? I want to learn about him from _him_ , not from some stupid web page,” Stiles answered and felt his cheeks grow hot from Lydia staring at him. “What?”

“You my sweet friend, is so completely whipped that it is almost sickening cute,” Lydia told him, looking straight ahead on the road, but smiling softly. “Since you don’t want any spoilers, the simple version why it shocked me that he was working on a new painting was because he hasn’t painted in several years due to some family matters. Anyway, he told me on our meeting at Monday the basic colors of the painting and the theme, which was forest at midnight. He refused to tell me how the painting looked like, though, and when I asked him why he had suddenly started to paint he’d only blushed slightly but kept his mouth shut, that bastard.” She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel. “He did seem very flustered, though,” Lydia hinted and looked at him once again through the inside mirror of the car. “I wonder what might have given him some new inspiration,” she said slowly, giving Stiles small glances.

“Huh, me too,” Stiles agreed and looked out the window distractingly while Lydia muttered something in the background sounding like: “Oh god, why am I friends with such oblivious people?”. Outside the landscape and buildings passed by in a blur. The snowing had stopped last weekend and hadn’t started again after that, but the ground was still slightly frost covered everywhere in Bath and nearby cities, and the temperature tilting between minus and plus degrees which made every citizen in Bath grab their thick winter coats out of the back of their closets earlier than expected that year.

Still, it was December, and December weather was always unpredictable. Stiles was only glad that he had been able to experience snow in Bath for the very first time.

With a very fine man.

The same very fine man that he was going to meet in one day, and _no, no Stiles, this is not the time to panic_. _Great, that thought did it. Oh god, what if he doesn’t like me anymore? What if he never liked me at all and it was all for pretend, which oops, yeah, it_ actually was _. Shit. Buggery, fucking shit. I am going to screw this all up, aren’t I? I’m going to screw it up and I’ll be unable to even walk nearby that freaking market square ever again and I’m probably going to end up grey and old with only my six cats for company. Which reminds me, I should totally just start getting a cat right away. No need to put off the unpreventable. It will just be me and my cats, living in complete harmony. I wonder if there’s a limit to how many cat’s one can have in a apar–_ “OUCH!” Stiles shouted as he received a hard slap to the back of his head. He looked accusingly at Lydia. “The hell did you do that for?”

“You were freaking out.”

“Was not!”

“Stiles, you were saying all that out loud. Trust me, you were freaking out.”

Lydia used both her hands to place on his shoulders and _whoah_ – “Driving! Get your hand off me you’re going to make us _crash_ , woman – oh.” He said once he saw that the car was parked by a curb of a street he didn’t recognize. “Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_.” She placed one hand oh his cheek and made him look at her. “You need to calm down, Stiles. Take a deep breath,” she told him and Stiles received a poke to the ribs when he didn’t to as she said.

“All right, all right, jeez woman.” He took a deep breath, and then by Lydia’s instructions continued to take them until he felt himself calming down.

Lydia removed her hands from his shoulders. “You calmed down?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

She smiled, said “Good, then I can do this,” and slapped him on the cheek.

Stiles hissed at the slap, moving his hand up to touch the sore cheek. “What the hell was that for?!”

Lydia sat back in the driver’s seat, inspecting her nails. “That was for freaking out. I know this might be a stressful situation for you, but you are Stiles–motherfucking–Stilinski. You’re the one who protected me from a rabid dog one day when we walked home the same way from school when we were nine with a long stick that you scared it with while I called for help. You are one of the most pure hearted, loving and funny human being I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing and you can hit a target with one of your dad’s guns with the most accuracy I’ve ever seen in a person who hasn’t had professional training. You can recite the first hundred digits of Pi at heart and you have read so many books and gathered so much knowledge that it’s almost unhealthy. You are Stiles–motherfucking–Stilinski, so don’t you dare freak out on me again or I won’t hesitate slapping some more sense into you.” She stared at him long and hard, so intensely that Stiles almost felt a drop of sweat gathering on his forehead despite the cold air surrounding him. “Got it?”

Stiles nodded, but couldn’t help but to tease her a bit. “Oh wow Lydia, I didn’t know I meant that much to you. I should get these pep talks more often from you. Can we make them a monthly thing?”

Opening the car door she rolled her eyes at him. “Oh shut up.”

“No really, we should probably just try to make out for a second. These newfound emotional feelings you’re developing is really making me attracted to you. Honestly, just a little tongue, some sweet touching. I’ll even let you touch my perfect butt. We can put that gayness of mine to the test,” Stiles joked.

Lydia slammed the car door harshly closed. When she made no sign of stopping and waiting for Stiles but kept walking towards a small brick covered store with big windows and _Tailors_ written on a big sign over the front entrance, Stiles struggled heroically with his seatbelt and stumbled out of the car while shouting after her, “Hey, Lyds, wait for me!” Lydia’s only response was to press a button on her car keys and the car locked itself with a small beep while Stiles ran to catch up with her. “Rude,” Stiles complained and popped his head to the side while groaning at the building pressure freeing there.

Lydia’s laughter followed them into the store.

They were greeted by an elderly lady who smiled and gave Lydia a big and friendly hug. “Lydia, my dear, how long it has been! How are you and that fiancé of yours doing? Does Mr. Whittemore have the need for any more tailored clothing?” the lady asked, and she was all smiles and soft eyes.

“Petunia, it’s good so see you as well. It’s not on Jackson’s behalf I’m here today, but rather a friend of mine’s.” Lydia motioned to Stiles with the hand that was not holding onto Petunia’s. The elderly lady looked at Stiles for the first time, and took a moment to take the man in.

“Oh my, what a handsome fella you have got here!” She walked over to Stiles and looked him over once again. “Fairly well built, a bit skinny but that doesn’t matter.” She then looked at his clothing with a single eyebrow slightly raised. “Well, I’m sure we can help you out, young man. In all of my lives living I have never encountered any lost souls I haven’t been able to dress better in some way. I’d recon you’d be easy enough, good looking fella like yourself.” Petunia clasped Stiles’ hands in her own. “When I am done with you all the ladies will find you irresistible, son.”

Stiles shoved his fingers down the front pockets of his pants and told her, “Actually, it’s a man I’m hoping will find me irresistible.”

She stroked the palm of her hand once across Stiles’ cheek in a comforting manner. “Never the matter, I will help you charm whoever you please.”

Stiles decided that he fell a bit in love with that old lady in that exact moment.

“It is much appreciated,” Lydia said, and then added, “and I’m afraid that we’re going to need a very hasty order from you this time. Hasty as in it has to be ready by tomorrow afternoon.”

Petunia’s face didn’t even as much as twitch at the new information. _Hardcore_ , Stiles thought. “Then we best hurry. Miguel!” She called into the halfway open door behind the counter of the store.

“Solo un momento, mia moglie!” a voice called back, and a few moments later a low Italian looking man stepped into the room. When he saw Lydia he smiled at her just as friendly as Petunia had.” Lydia, il mio tesoro!” Miguel greeted in an Italian accent.

Lydia walked over to him and kissed his left cheek, then his right. “Miguel, it’s so good to see you. How is my preferito tailor doing?” She said sweetly, throwing in an Italian word and Stiles could see the man melting at her words.

He huffed and made a waving motion with his hand. “Oh you flatter me as always.”

“Praise that is well deserved, might I add.”

Miguel smiled at her. “Now, what can I help you with, my child?”

“It’s my friend, Stiles.” Lydia motioned to Stiles who was standing a bit behind Lydia and watching how happily Lydia interacted with these people like they were her own family. That woman really never ceased to surprise Stiles. Stiles waved awkwardly at Miguel, and Miguel nodded with a smile in return. “He could use a suit. For tomorrow.”

Miguel didn’t flinch either at the hasty order, and Stiles found himself thoroughly impressed by these two elderly people and at how professional they had handled everything so far.

“Sí, naturalmente! Come over here, son, and let me work some miracles on you.” Petunia took both Stiles’ and Lydia’s coats and then Stiles was lead into the middle of the store where there was a huge mirror covering one wall, and a sort of low round steel box that he stepped on top of. The walls of the store were colored soft brown and the floor was made of grey colored wood. Around him there were mannequins dressed up in suits and different casual clothing, as well as jackets and coats. There was soft music playing in the background and clothing lying on shelves centered around the area of the room he was standing in. Accessories hung on coat stands made of dark wood and behind him there was a leather couch and a table where Lydia had sat down with a cup of tea in hand. All in all the room gave Stiles a very homey feeling with candles lit on a table, and an open door to his right that as far as Stiles could see, lead into Miguel’s and Petunia’s work room.

“If you can stand still for a moment I’ll take your measurements,” Miguel said and took a measuring tape from a table to Stiles’ left. Stiles stood still for five minutes while Miguel moved his tape across his body, measuring sufficiently while telling Petunia a bunch of numbers that meant absolutely no sense to Stiles, but that Petunia wrote down.

“Now, what kind of formal wear are we talking about here, Lydia?” Miguel asked once he was finished with doing the measurements.

Sipping from her cup of tea, Lydia said, “I was thinking a slightly dark Grey Mohair Suit minus the waistcoat and with a white and light grey striped shirt.”

“And a bowtie!” Stiles exclaimed because he needed to feel like he’d contributed to the conversation since it was in fact he who was going to wear this, and because bowties were cool.

Lydia looked at him and smiled slightly.  “Fine, and a light grey bowtie.” She turned back to Miguel. “Will that be all right?”

“Whatever la signora commands,” he said lightly and winked at her. “Let me see if I have any suit trousers in his measurements out back, in the meanwhile, you,” he looked at Stiles, “through the door to your left you’ll find a changing room, go strip down to your underwear and I’ll be right out with something for you to try out.”

Lydia wiggled her eyebrows at Stiles. “Go strip, pretty boy.”

“I hate you,” he mouthed sternly at her, but gave both Miguel and Petunia warm smiles before walking into the changing room and stripping out of his clothes for the hundredth time that day.

 

**********

 

“– you should have seen it. He was pouting and everything! Yes, yes of course I took pictures. Yeah, I’m sending them to you right now. You got them? Great! Oh, that’s a brilliant idea! Send them to Cora as well, she’s good at Photoshop, perhaps she could make Derek Christmas cards out of them. She could Photoshop him next to a picture of Grumpy Cat! I know right, they are so alike! You know what, Laura, I’m really glad Derek introduced me to you.” Erica chatted away into her cellphone.

“I’m not,” Derek grumbled. He was sitting on his couch (which had now been vacuumed between the sofa cushions thanks to Boyd and Isaac), and regretting the day he introduced Laura and Erica together all those years ago as Erica talked to his sister in the couch opposite to him. Boyd was sitting next to Erica, massaging the sore feet that apparently came from going on a three hour shopping trip while being pregnant _and_ wearing high heels. Isaac came from the kitchen and passed around beers to all of them (except Erica who was sipping on a juice box) before sitting down next to Derek.

“Thanks, man.” Derek took a bottle opener from the living room table and opened up his beer, passing around the bottle opener. “Though it looks like you need one more than I do,” Derek commented. Isaac and Boyd really looked completely drained. When Erica and himself had gotten back to his apartment with his credit card only missing the amount of money that was expected whenever he went shopping with Erica, Isaac and Boyd had been halfway asleep, halfway in a zombielike state of mind after having cleaned up after his mess.

Though to their credit, the apartment actually looked fairly decent. Boyd had even opened all of the windows to let the painting/caveman smell out and so nicely sprayed the air with one of his air fresheners, so at least now the apartment smelled better.

When Derek had entered his bedroom to put on some warm wool socks because the apartment was still very cold from the winter air Boyd had let in, he’d found the corner of the comforter on left side of the bed slightly folded, which had probably been Isaac’s _hilarious_ idea. Instead of a mint chocolate on his pillow there was a single condom and a large  tube of lube with a winky face drawn on both of them with a marker. Also probably Isaac’s idea. Still, he appreciated their confidence that he would be getting laid within the next few days. He himself had no plans except perhaps to sleep in for once and deal with the emotional aftermath of having a public art exhibition.

“I should have never introduced those two heathens to each other. They are probably plotting my demise right as we speak,” Derek informed Isaac as Erica let out an extremely high laugh over the phone.

“True,” Isaac agreed and rested his head on Derek’s shoulder, pulling the blanket he had thrown across his lap over Derek’s as well.

“You baby,” Derek remarked, but snuggled into the warm body beside him.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m taking a well–deserved nap,” Boyd pronounced from the other couch and stole the blanket from Erica’s waist to cover himself up with while tilting his body to the side and pushing his feet up on the couch in a fetal position so that he could lie on his half of the couch without disturbing Erica. It was actually all kinds of sweet.

“Wait, oh apparently we’re having a snuggle party here. I have to go, hun. Cheers.” Erica laid down beside Boyd and wrapped a hand around his waist, head snuggled into his shoulder. Boyd used his free arm to cover the both of them with the blanket. “Snuggle party,” Erica hummed against Boyd’s shoulder. “Go team. All in all I would call this day a success. Derek got himself a striking new suit for tomorrow, I got myself a new scarf, and you two darlings made Derek’s apartment look livable again so that he can take home someone from the exhibition tomorrow and vent out some of that frustration with lots of messy and sweaty sex.” Erica sighed dreamingly. “Do you mind if I put up a camera in your bedroom to tape the whole thing, Derek? Purely in the name of science, of course. Or something…”

Derek stared at her from where Isaac had forced him to lay down on the couch so that Isaac could use him as a human mattress to sleep on top of, but judging from the humorous smile she sent in his direction from the other couch she didn’t look that intimidated. Dammit, he was starting to lose his intimidation skills. He blamed it on Isaac and his friend’s need for cuddle. “No, no and _no_. And what makes you think I’ll be having “messy and sweaty” sex tomorrow in the first place? Also, your fascination with my sex life is actually kind of scary.” He frowned. “Boyd, back me up here,” he asked, because Isaac was already snoring softly with his head on Derek’s chest. Derek decided that he would let Isaac drool on his shirt just this time. Because of the thoughtful winky faced condoms on his pillow. And the cleaning. But mostly for the thoughtful condoms.

“Her kinks, no matter how crazy, are her own. She’s a pregnant lady, Derek, let her be,” Boyd mumbled against one of the pillows placed on the couch, currently smashed down by his face. That was a pillow with Derek’s name hand sown on in blue un–precise letters by Cora when she was in elementary school and it was Crafts and Arts day. If Boyd drooled on that he was _personally_ paying for the cleaner’s bill.

“Yes, Derek, _let me be_.” Erica mocked him sleepily.

“Pregnant or not, your pretty eyes are never going to see any sex video of mine. _Ever_.”

She pouted. “Naww, don’t be like that Der–bear.”

He pressed his free palm to his forehead and sighed. “You really have been spending way too much time with Laura. She’s contagious, you know. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The sound of Boyd’s steady breathing filled the room, and Erica snuggled into Boyd’s sleeping form while closing her eyes. “You’re only jealous of our unbreakable bond. When we take over the world all while wearing a pair of high heeled shoes you’re going to come beg at our fine feet for mercy. And I will get that sex video one day Derek, mark my words,” Erica said sleepily and yawned. “Sleep now, talks of world domination later.”

A smile appeared on Derek’s face at her words. He had to admire her stubbornness.

He also let out a yawn (they were really contagious) and fell asleep being crushed by Isaac’s warm body and listening to his best friends soft breathing, thinking there was nowhere he’d rather be.

 

**********

 

When Stiles opened the door to the Bath Veterinarian Clinic he was greeted with the sight of dogs barking happily at each other in the waiting area of the clinic, and their owners trying to calm them down. He made his way to the front desk of the building while balancing a tray of chocolate chip cookies he’d made yesterday in his left hand. The elderly lady sitting behind the counter smiled when she saw him. “Stilinski, what are you doing here?”

“I bring peace offerings.” He lifted the black plastic covering from the tray to reveal a dozen homemade cookies. He could see the lady – Gertrude, he remembered – smiling at him even wider once she’d seen the cookies. “What do you want in return, son?” she asked him and winked.

Stiles couldn’t help his smile, the woman knew him well. “A chat with your darling Scotty, and some cuddles with your newly arrived batch of puppies.”

“I agree with your terms, young man. You can leave those in the break room if you’d like, Doctor McCall is in the kennel out back. You know the way.” She winked at him and stole a cookie from the tray.

He gave her one of his charming smiles. “Pleasure doing business with you, Gertrude,” he reported and walked past the examination rooms and into the break room where he put the cookies on one of the tables with a winky face post-it on top. He didn’t even need to say who they were from anymore; they’d all grown familiar with his baking enough that they recognized the Stilinski touch. When he exited the break room and entered the kennel in the back room Stiles was at once met with the sound of high barking from some of the more energetic dogs that weren’t taking a nap or under asleep after having undergone surgery. “Scott!” he called over the noise, and Scott hit his head on the top of a dog cage he was head deep inside in an attempt of trying to coax a small Chihuahua out of its cage.

“Ouch! Stiles, what the hell are you doing here?” Scott stood up after closing the cage door and pouted slightly while rubbing his sore head. “And if you’re here dragging me out to go clothes shopping with you, I refuse.”

“Nah, Lydia already covered that earlier today.” Stiles scoffed jokingly. “And is that any way to treat your best friend?”

Scott looked at him like he’d just grown a second head.

“I came to see you of course! I needed to check up on my best bro and how he was doing at work. So, how are you doing champ? Tired after a long week? Ready to go home and snuggle up with your daughter and wife on the couch while watching cliché cartoon movies which you pretend you only watch for Tamara’s sake, but really deep inside you’re a huge cartoon fan and gets irrevocably overjoyed every time your daughter insists you watch them?” Stiles left foot paced on the ground rapidly in a restless tick.

“No I don’t,” Scott defended himself quickly. And then, “Wait, how do _you_ know that?”.

The dogs barked happily as Stiles walked past their cages and put a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “I’ve known you since we were kids, Scott. I know more things about you than I’d care to know.” Scott got a constipated look on his face, like he didn’t know whether or not to defend his own honor. “Hey, I’m not judging. As much as mention a Marvel character to me and I go into fictional dreamland, you know that.”

Scott shrugged as if saying “fair enough”. “You’re really here to see the puppies, aren’t you?”

Stiles didn’t even try to deny it. “I’m about 70 percent here to see the puppies. The other thirty is to ingratiate with the receptionist,” he said seriously but punched Scott playfully in the arm.

“Hey!” Scott complained. “Be nice to me, I’m the one letting you pet the puppies.”

Stiles took a look around in the room. “I don’t see any puppies. And you know me; I have a well–developed puppy radar.”

“They’re in the other room. I just need to get this Chihuahua to examination room four first, but I can’t get it to come out of the cage.”

Stiles cracked his fingers. “Leave this to the professionals, Scotty,” he said and Scott gave him a blank stare. “Hah, the professionals,” he laughed at his own unintentional joke. “I should be a comedian.” Bending down next to the cage, he could see the Chihuahua lying on a thick blanket in the far off corner of the room. “Well aren’t you a cutie. Come on, girl, let’s get you out of that cage and out to your owners, how about that, huh?”

When the Chihuahua growled at his fingers stretching out for it inside the cage, Stiles immediately retreated his fingers. “Okay, good _boy_ , then. Huh, what about that? You want to come out and say hello to Scotty? I swear he’s a real nice guy, he won’t even try to trick you into taking a shot or anything like that.” The dog sniffed at Stiles outstretched fingers this time and started walking with slow careful movements towards the opening of the cage. “That’s a good boy! I bet Scotty here will give you a lot of treats for being such a good boy, won’t you Scotty?” Scott opened his mouth to answer, but Stiles kept on sweet talking to the dog. “And perhaps if you’re a really good boy you’ll get a belly scratch in return.” The Chihuahua walked out of the cage and pressed itself against Stiles’ legs. “Good boy,” Stiles cooed and lifted the dog up and into Scott’s arms.

His best friend looked at him with a slightly open mouth. “How did you do that?”

“It’s the good old Stilinski charm. It appeals to everyone, apparently even little Chihuahuas.” He clapped Scott on the shoulder and walked to the entrance of the kennel. “Now, I believe there are five newborn puppies with my name on them.”

 

**********

 

Stiles was sitting on the floor, cooing over the small fluffy puppies that were dragging themselves around slowly on the woolen blanket covering Stiles’ lap, when a sudden voice made him jump slightly where he sat. “Mr. Stilinski,” the unexpected voice greeted. Stiles looked up to see Scott’s boss, Alan Deaton, watching him with calculating eyes.

“Oh, hi Dr. D. Umm…” He looked down at the puppies in his lap and then up at Scott who was tending to their mother in a nearby cage and pointed at him. “He did it.”

“Stiles,” Scott sighed. “Never mind him Dr. Deaton. He’s just high on puppy love right now.” Scott walked towards Deaton and gave him his best smile. “How’s your day been? Isn’t this your day off, by the way?”

“I had some paperwork that needed to be sent off before tomorrow so I thought I’d stop by and do it myself.” He sent Scott a small smile. “How are the newborn puppies doing?”

“They are fantastic!” Stiles answered for Scott. “And so fluffy. I just want to adopt all of them.”

Deaton took one of the bundles of papers placed in some shelves by the desk placed by one of the walls in the examination room and took at glance at the top papers. “It seems they are being picked up tomorrow by their owners. We’re just keeping them here because we need to keep an eye on their mother and see if her stitches break or if anything else is amiss and it’s not good to separate the mother and puppies so sudden after birth.” Seeing Stiles’ pouting face Deaton said, “We close in an hour, so you can stay here for a while if you’d like, just remember to put them back with their mother when you’re done, Scott.” Scott nodded all business like and Stiles gave Deaton a happy smile.

“Thanks Dr. D,” Stiles said gratefully and snuggled the puppies closer to him.

“No problem. I’ll be on my way then.” Deaton walked towards the door to the examination room but stopped at the threshold. “And Stiles, any special plans for this weekend?”

Stiles stopped petting the puppies for a second, stilling at the sudden question. “Ummm…” He looked at Scott for help but Scott seemed as surprised at the question as Stiles did. But he did gather himself more quickly than Stiles.

“You have plans for tomorrow, don’t you, Stiles?” Scott asked him slightly teasingly. “I seem to remember you mentioning something to me… A few dozen times.”

“Yeah, you know, the normal Saturday sleeping in, playing some Bioshock Infinite, perhaps even going for a run and then I, um, I have an art exhibition I’m attending later that night.” Stiles kept his gaze on the puppies that shuffled about on his lap.

Deaton’s eyebrows raised slightly. “An art exhibition? I didn’t know you were interested in art, Stiles. Whose art exhibition are you attending?”

“Um, Derek Hale’s. I don’t know if you’ve heard of him. Used to be popular back in the day, at least from what I’ve heard.” One of the puppies tried to drag itself towards the end of his lap, but Stiles caught it before it could get far. “Whoah, easy there puppy. You’re quite the adventurer, aren’t you?” Stiles put the puppy back in the center of his lap together with the other four puppies.

“What an absolute coincidence!” Deaton said joyfully, or as joyfully as Stiles could ever picture Deaton being, which wasn’t really that joyful if Stiles had to be perfectly honest. “As a matter of fact I’m going to that same exhibition. Fascinating work Hale makes. Really fascinating. Especially his main piece.” Deaton paused thoughtful for a moment. “Or so, I have heard anyway. Enjoy your weekend boys,” he said giving Scott a nod and Stiles an amused smile, and then he was out of the room and gone.

“Okay, what on earth was that about?” Stiles asked.

Scott shrugged like it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. “That’s Dr. Deaton for you. Seventy percent of the time he speaks in riddles and stares at people like he knows something they don’t but he’s a darn good veterinarian so we just tend to look past that most of the time.”

Stiles huffed. “Well, I found it weird.” Stiles snuggled the puppies closer to him while covering them up with some of the blanket so that they didn’t get cold. “Look at these cuties, look at them, Scott.” He placed one of the puppies in his hand and held it out so Scott could take a look at it. “This one looks like you. I’ll name him Scott II, after the bravest man I’ve ever known.” Stiles pretended to wipe a fake tear from his eye. “I bet when he gets older we can even dress him up in a kilt and fake ginger beard for Halloween, and then you can dress up in your similar costume and you’ll be twins!” He smiled. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Firstly, just because the puppy’s fur lighter brown colored than the rest doesn’t mean that it looks like me. Secondly, the puppy doesn’t belong to you, thirdly, no, no and just no, and fourthly, _the puppy doesn’t belong to you_. And also did you just quote Harry Potter at me?”

Stiles pouted. “You’re no fun. And yes, yes I did.”

He spent twenty more minutes just petting the puppies and feeling himself relax properly. Now, when he thought about Saturday his gut didn’t fill with dread like it had the past couple of days, but rather he was exited for what the day might bring. He just hoped to God that he wouldn’t end up screwing it all up.

 

**********

 

Saturday flew by more slowly than Stiles would have thought. His stomach was filled with butterflies the entire day and he spent most of the time trying to distract himself until it was time to get changed and leave for the exhibition. He tried baking, which normally had the effect of calming him down straight away, but he found he was so jumpy that he nearly burned a batch of mint cookies and Stiles _never_ burned his food. Since baking was out of the question he tried to do some reading but after reading the same paragraph twelve times in a row he figured there was no use. He managed to distract himself with a couple of hours of playing Bioshock Infinite but in the end that too was not enough to keep him occupied for long. Meditating only made the minutes seem longer, not faster. Jacking off only made him more excited to see Derek again after coming to the vision of him fucking Derek into the mattress, so that didn’t exactly help settle his nerves. After countless of tries he slipped on his jacket and drove to Illuminated Pages to see how Matt was handling the Saturday shift but all that ended with was Matt throwing him out of his own store after shelving some books wrong _again_.

“Hey Stiles,” Matt said as Stiles started walking to the front door. Stiles turned around.

“Yeah?”

“Good luck dude, I’ll be crossing my fingers. Go sweep that man off his feet and tell him that if he doesn’t treat you well I don’t care how famous he is, I will personally whip his ass, and not in a good way,” Matt told Stiles while smiling at him.

“Thanks Matt.” Stiles gave him a big smile and made a mental note to get Matt a fruit basket or something when this week was over to thank him for keeping up with him.

“I’ll leave the good ass whipping to you,” he winked and ignored the customers in the store that stopped and looked at him strangely.

“Shut up, you pervert,” Stiles shouted at him from across the room, still smiling.

He gave Matt one final wave and opened the front door, taking a step outside when he heard Matt shouting “Remember to use a condom!” at him straight before the door closed. Okay, make that two fruit baskets.

Lydia stopped by his apartment around five in the afternoon when Stiles was watching a re–run of Supernatural in his living room. “I bring gifts!” she said excitingly and made Stiles pause the episode while she opened the zipper to the plastic covering the clothes. “Well, technically they aren’t gifts because you have to pay for them, but I got you a discount so it’s sort of a gift. Anyway, take this and go change.” She gave him the hanger with the suit on. “Oh and I bought you some new underwear as well!” She shouted to him when he was in the bathroom. “You better wear it. I want you looking your best tonight!”

Stiles nodded, but then remembering that she couldn’t see him he shouted, “Yes ma’am.”

“Good!” She shouted in return.

He stripped down and put on the underwear first, which was simple black briefs that fit his hips perfectly. He was almost afraid to ask how Lydia knew his underwear size. Then he put on the light grey colored suit trousers which he had to admit were a perfect fit. Huh. He should go to a tailor more often. Next he put the white and slightly grey striped shirt on and then the suit jacket on top of that again. He moved around in his new clothes and found that he could not have asked for a better fit. Looking in the mirror he almost didn’t recognize himself. “Whoah,” he said.

Lydia must have heard him from the hallway because she suddenly said “Come out, come out, I want to see!”

Taking one last look in the mirror he checked that everything was in order and then he opened the bathroom door to reveal a grinning Lydia. “I knew it!” She clapped her hands happily. “Turn around.” She made spinning motions with her hand and Stiles span, feeling like a little girl at the smile that broke out as he did so. “Yes, perfect. Some of Miguel’s best work so far. You can say it you know. Come on, I know you want to, deep, deep inside,” she coaxed Stiles.

Stiles groaned. “All right. You didn’t do too bad, I suppose.”

Lydia gave him a hard stare. “Didn’t do too bad? I did amazingly! I am like Cinderella’s fairy godmother and you are Cinderella going to your first ball to win your prince over with your fine looking tailored suit.” Lydia wiped way a fake stray tear. “I am so proud.”

Stiles was dragged into a exited hug by Lydia and he hugged her back. “You’re right you know. I do look pretty fucking good,” he said into her shoulder. “However I do find that Cinderella analogy pretty fucking sexist. Though I would look pretty sexy in a ballroom dress, I bet.”

She ignored that last comment. “You’re going to swipe him off his feet. He won’t even know what hit him.” Lydia winked at him.

“There’s one thing that’s missing, though,” Stiles said, pointing to the collar of the shirt.

“Oh, right!” Lydia opened up her large Prada bag and took a white rectangular box out of it, giving it to Stiles. He opened it and inside was a light silver striped bowtie made out of the same fabric as the rest of the suit.

“You do know I have no idea how to put this on, right?” he admitted sheepishly.

Lydia passed him a soft smile. “Here, let me,” she said and took the bowtie out of the box and expertly folded the piece of fabric into a bowtie, placing it under the folded collar and tightening it just right. After straightening the bow a bit she stepped back and took Stiles in. “My little Cinderella, all grown up.”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

Taking a look at her watch Lydia said,“ I need to go now, somebody needs to keep everything under control at the art exhibition and I need to make sure that Derek doesn’t lose his main piece while hanging it up with a fabric covering it because apparently he “doesn’t want anyone else to see it before the exhibition starts”,” She mimicked with a grouchy voice. “He hasn’t even let me see it, that bastard. Even after all the miracles I’ve pulled to get the location ready for him. Anyway, you have the address and just show up there at seven with your pretty self and I’ll find you somewhere in the crowd, all right?” Lydia gave Stiles a quick kiss on the cheek and then made way for the door.

“Hey Lyds,” Stiles called out and Lydia stilled. “Thanks for everything, you’ve been the best. And you haven’t told him I’m coming, right?”

“No problem, I’m happy to help.” Lydia gave him one of her smug smiles. “And Stiles; he’ll never even see you coming.”

Thirty minutes before the art exhibition started Stiles was sitting on his couch, still all dressed up in his suit and drumming his fingers on his thighs in an anxious manner. In an attempt to distract himself he took up his phone and called his dad.

He picked up after the third ring. “Hi kiddo, how’s life in Bath treating you?” Stiles’ dad answered cheerfully.

“Hi Dad,” Stiles greeted. “Nah, same old, same old. What about you? Got any new exiting cases?” Stiles’ dad, John Stilinski, lived on the outskirts of London together with his girlfriend of four years, Melissa McCall, Scott’s mother. Stiles had also grown up in London, but he moved away when he went to the University of Bath and had been living in Bath ever since. Luckily his dad didn’t live that far away, only about ninety minutes by train or a bit longer by car, but usually he just took the train whenever he felt like visiting his dad and Melissa.

“Ha-ha, you know I can’t tell you that kiddo. Classified information and all.” John worked as a Sheriff in London, and Stiles had tried since he was little to coax out information about exiting cases he worked on, but John always answered the same thing. “But things are well. Melissa and I are having a quiet night in.” There’s a pause and some talk in the background that Stiles can’t hear properly and then his dad says, “She gives her regards.”

“Cool, say hello back.” Stiles had always liked Melissa. She’d been a close friend of the family, even when Stiles’ mother was alive, and it wasn’t until years after his mother’s death that John got together with Melissa. They had both lost someone, his dad had lost Stiles’ mom to cancer and Melissa’s husband had left her when Scott was a little baby. They had both decided that it didn’t feel right to marry again after that, and had now been living together for over three years and dating for four, almost five years. Still, Stiles had the feeling that their relationship status soon would change to husband and wife, something he wasn’t troubled by at all. Melissa was already family, no matter her last name. And if they did one day marry that would mean that he and Scott would become brothers for real, which was of course a big plus in Stiles’ book. “And ask her if she still has Scott’s kilt and fake ginger wig and beard from that day in primary school, will you? I’m extremely curious.”

His dad muttered something like, “kids these days,” but did as he was asked. In the background Stiles heard his dad asking Melissa, and then Melissa’s laughter filled up the background. “She says Scott brought it with him to Bath all those years ago and never returned it,” his dad answered while Melissa still laughed in the background.

“Oh man, I knew it!” Stiles laughed. “That bastard, he insinuated that he didn’t know where it was! I bet he secretly puts it on and wears it around at home when he’s alone. Oh sweet Scotty.” Stiles could just picture it.

“What about you kid? You’ve got nothing better to do on a Saturday night than call your old man?” his dad asked.

“Well yes. But I wanted to talk to you,” Stiles said slowly, unsure how to explain what he was going to do.

“Okay, spill it, son. What’s really going on?” His dad used the concerned voice. John almost never used the concerned voice.

Stiles bit his lip. “I’m about to do something very stupid and possibly extremely humiliating.”

“Well, are your friends going to be there to video tape it so that I can watch it later with Melissa while eating butter flavored popcorn?” his dad asked seriously.

Stiles tilted his head in thought. Lydia was going to be there and she _did_ have a phone with her. “Well, yes.”

“Good,” said his dad. “Then at least you won’t be alone and you can joke about it with your friends later. And Stiles, I’m sure everything will be fine. From what I’ve heard you’re really whipped on this guy and if he likes you as much as you like him it will all work out in the end.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Stiles smiled. “But wait a minute, how do you know that this is about a guy?”

“Ummmm,” his dad said, probably buying some time to try to come up with an excuse, Stiles imagined.

“Scott! That bastard, I’m going to carve him open with a spoon!” Stiles rages. “He told you, didn’t he?”

“Technically Scott told Melissa who then told me so no, not really,” John answered sheepishly over the phone.

“Argh!” He dragged a hand down his face in irritation. “How much do you know?”

“Enough to know that you made out with a complete stranger in the middle of a market square with children around, which _really_ , Stiles? If I had been there I would have arrested you both for public indecency. And then slapped an extra fine upon this Derek person just for kissing you. Which is my rightful duty as your dad, I would say. Wouldn’t you agree, Melissa?” There’s a small pause. “Yupp, she agrees with me. And so now you’re going to seek him out and pray that there aren’t any officers of the law around to charge you with public indecency when you two start making out like two teenagers again. That’s basically the drift, isn’t it?”

Stiles groaned again and tried to sink into the couch deeper. “Yes,” he admitted.

“Well, enjoy yourself, but not _too much_ , you understand, kid? I’m keeping an eye on you, if I see any disturbing pictures in tabloids or online of you I am posting on YouTube that video of you dressed up as that High School Musical dude singing “We’re all in this together” from when you were a child. And give Lydia a hug from me, will you? That girl is such a sweetheart, sent me a picture of you in a black and purple tuxedo while looking like you wanted to murder a kitten. I’ve told Melissa to make it into a Christmas card for you. You don’t have to thank me, I know you’ll love it,” his dad said firmly and happily.

“I hate you both,” Stiles exclaimed weakly.

“No you don’t. Now, go snatch yourself that fella and we can talk later.”

Stiles purposely hit his head hardly against the sofa cushions. “For all that’s holy, never ever repeat that sentence ever again.” He took a look at the time on his phone and stood up from the couch. “I really need to go now. Humiliation awaits. Love you, Dad.”

“I love you too. And remember, even though two men can’t get pregnant you should always use –“

Stiles hung up on him. His dad could be such a dick sometimes. When he thought about it, that’s probably where Stiles himself got it from. Huh.

 

**********

 

He arrived at the location at exactly seven and the parking lot around the building had already started to fill up. He followed the line of people (all dressed up in fine clothing under their thick winter coats he saw, so now he felt less stupid walking around in his suit) into the building which looked similar in space as the inside of a clothing store, but that had been transformed into a huge art exhibition. Art hung all around on the walls in the large room as far as he could see. To his left when he entered the small hallway that lead to the main room there was a man dressed in fine clothing that took their coats and hung it up on a rack behind him, and before he knew it he stood inside the room filled with Derek’s art.

“Wow,” he mouthed, eyes in awe over the complete makeover of the room. The theme was obviously midnight forest like Lydia had told him because all around him he saw forest. The floors were in shiny black which gave width and contrast to the rest of the white colored walls in the room. There was a large aspen tree made out of what looked like gypsum plaster that had been formed and painted so lively that Stiles could have sworn it looked real. It was placed in the corner to his left to where he stood. The branches at the top of the tree entwined with the ceiling and had been made so that it looked like the branches were growing through the ceiling in wavy motions. The tree had no leaves so Stiles guessed that it was supposed to match the season they were currently in, but on the branches hung simple candle lanterns with different colored glass so that it gave a colorful look as the candles burned inside.

The on the walls were all kinds of different artworks, made with everything from beautiful watercolor to shady charcoal. Stiles couldn’t believe that Derek – the Derek he had publically made out with and forced to be his pretend boyfriend in front of his ex–boyfriend – had made all of that. Around him people dressed in similar attire as himself talked in civilized tones to each other while standing in front of Derek’s works and pointing at particular things in the room or art pieces.

In the middle of the room there was even a fairly large three stump (also after Stiles’ opinion made of gypsum plaster) painted in dark brown colors. It had been made so that it looked like it erupted out from the floor, with parts of the black floor bending upwards on the sides of the stump in a realistic manner. The light strength in the room had been put down slightly so that the light was somewhat weaker than normal, but there were spots to each art piece attached to the ceiling that gave all of the pieces proper lighting to view them in.

Stiles’ was simply amazed by all the artwork in the room. He had only seen a tiny piece of what the large room had to offer, yet there was no doubt that Derek Hale was an extremely talented artist. He imagined how much time Derek must have spent on each art piece, how many times he must have started over fresh because he wasn’t happy with the result, how much of himself he must have poured and poured into his pieces. It can’t have been easy having people see and ultimately judge the art you’ve spent days or weeks working on. Stiles wondered how Derek was doing, if he was nervous at all before showcasing his art to the world. Stiles sure as hell would have been in Derek’s shoes.  

A form appeared next to him as he watched the art, taking in every last detail before moving onto the next one. When he turned his head to the side he saw an elderly lady staring at the same art piece as Stiles. “Incredible, isn’t it?” she asked while her eyes watched with fascination. “I’ve kept an eye on Mr. Hale’s art ever since his first exhibition as a child, and I knew that he liked to experiment, but this is beyond my comprehension. How much time it must have taken, and what an idea!” The woman shook her head in bewilderment. “He must have had some incredible inspiration for this, that’s for sure.”

“Yes,” Stiles agreed.

She took her eyes off the shadow and looked at him while smiling. “Enjoy the art exhibition, young man.”

“You too, ma’am.” Stiles smiled back at her. She left his side and since Lydia hadn’t found him yet he simply stood there, taking in the rest of the details of the room. The room was crowding up now, and a few waitresses were walking past with trays carved out of wood that were filled with glasses of champagne that the guests took with gratitude. When one of the waitresses asked him if he wanted a glass he declined politely. Stiles figured that he needed to be fully sober for this night not to end in a complete disaster.

He decided to take a quick walk around the room and make himself visible for Lydia to find. Walking past the artpiece he was currently admiring, he found several colorful artworks made with watercolor, framed with glass. These artworks consisted of everything from a beautifully detailed full moon with the starry night behind it to an equally as detailed watercolor painting of a naked male form standing with his back turned on a balcony overlooking an empty beach and a sunset rising from the abyss. Stiles wanted to take his finger and trace it down the shape of the man, wondering if Derek had known this man, if they had been lovers. The artwork looked like it had been painted with love; in fact, all of the artworks he had seen so far had looked that way. He ignored the stream of jealousy he felt wash through him at the thought of the man pictured in the art being the center of Derek’s affections. It wasn’t his place to be jealous.

All of the artworks had a nameplate placed on the wall under the work consisting of the name of the work, and then beside it a small white sticker with a number written on it. He had forgotten to grab with him a list of all of the artworks being displayed and the prices by the front entry, but he made a mental note to grab one after he had found Lydia.

As he moved further into the room he noticed that most of the art pieces he saw portrayed male characters. It was a small relief to see that Derek hadn’t really been lying when he’d said he was gay. Not that Stiles was ever really in doubt about it, not after the way Derek had kissed him, but some part of him found relief in the fact that he was standing in a room filled with art pieces that all represented who Derek was as a person, and that some of that reflected back upon the fact that Derek was a gay man that wasn’t ashamed to show it to the world.

“Stiles!” someone said hastily behind him, and he stilled slightly, thinking that it was Derek for a second, but the voice didn’t match up with Derek’s so he turned around completely. It was Lydia, walking towards him with rushed steps. When she closed in on her Stiles could see tears running down her face and her makeup slightly smudged. His hand grabbed ahold of her shoulder comfortingly.

“Lydia! What happened to you? Why are you cry–“ Stiles started, but was interrupted by Lydia.

“You know what, I give up. I absolutely give up on everything. I have never seen anything so – so beautiful and so full of love.” She sniffed once quite determinedly and looked him straight in the eye with glossy eyes. “You two deserve each other. Truly. I can’t think of a better loving match.” A sob made it through out of her mouth, and one of her hands covered her mouth. “I can’t look at you right now, all I see is _it_ , and the colors and the beautiful frame and _I can’t_ all right. Fuck, I’ve smudged up my makeup.” Her slender fingers dried away some of the tears on her cheek. “I need to clean myself up, you just go, go and see –” Lydia’s breath hitched and Stiles was starting to wonder if he should call Jackson to come and calm down his fiancé. He’d practically never seen Lydia so upset before. “Fuck, I need to go. Just – just let it happen, Stiles.”

With a final sob she walked hurriedly away from him and out of sight and Stiles was left standing there with a jaw slacked expression on his face while wondering just what the hell had just happened. He took a quick look around him and he didn’t see anyone looking at him quizzically so no one must have noticed Lydia’s breakdown, which he was sure Lydia would appreciate later on.

Just as he was about to walk in the direction Lydia had gone off to, a voice stopped him.

“Wha – Stiles, is that you?” a familiar voice said from behind him and Stiles turned around to be met face to face with Derek Hale for the second time in a week. Stiles froze completely in his steps.

“D–Derek?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find how I’m picturing Stiles in a suit right here: http://www.hitched.co.uk/mens-wedding-suits/marc-wallace/grey-mohair-suit-bow-tie/
> 
> And Derek’s suit is right here: http://img04.taobaocdn.com/bao/uploaded/i4/T14qjwXcFsXXXJIgU9_103509.jpg
> 
> *hides under blanket and silently hopes that you won't hate me for ending the chapter with a cliffhanger* But yay, the story has /finally/ progressed to the point where Stiles and Derek meet up again!
> 
> Just to clarify something, I've had someone ask me if I'd abandoned this story and I'd just like to say that that will never happen. I'm planning on writing several thousand more words to this story so it's far from finished yet! :)
> 
> My tumblr askbox (same username as the one i use here) is always open if anyone wants to talk or just swoon together over Dylan O'Brien's moles.  
> Stay classy, people.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek suddenly stepped closer to him and put a hand on his cheek, which was surprisingly soft and warm. “I’m going to kiss you now, Stiles, and I would prefer if you didn’t hit my pretty face for doing so,” was all Derek said, and oh Stiles was definitely going to kill him because that was the same thing that–
> 
> Then there were lips against his own and all Stiles could think about was that Derek was totally pulling a Stiles on him.

Having a big imagination had always been one of Derek’s traits. His mother used to tell him that he saw the world in his own way. Derek hadn’t really known what to do with that information. At the time he had been a child who knew how to do one thing properly: to draw. It had been an anchor of sorts for him through the school years where he was bullied by children that had nothing better to do than pick on those smaller and smarter than themselves. Derek fell under that category automatically because he was a fairly tiny built boy and his fellow pupils in primary school seemed to think that it made him an easy target.

Towards the end of primary school he started running a lot: another way he found that he could let off a little steam and relax in his body. In the middle of lower secondary school Derek started working out and felt his body growing in strength and weight. Upper secondary school came and he didn’t longer look like the tiny boy he was in primary school but had grown some muscles, enough that he was actually noticed by girls his age, to his great surprise.

Along with his developing muscles and physical health, his artistic skills had also improved immensely and Derek found himself actually liking who he was more and more. He started doing even larger and drastic paintings, evolving both as a person and as an artist, though for him those two were growing to become one and the same. The rest of the Hale’s supported him like family were meant to do, encouraging him to be the best that he felt he could be and for that Derek was immensely grateful.

There had been days where evolving as an artist in the world had been tougher than he’d thought, like when he started university and found other students with similar artistic talents as himself. The not always friendly competition drove him to seek deeper inside himself to find something that he hadn’t seen before, something meaningful. That was when he drew his first nude picture of a man in deep black charcoal. The rest just seemed to find its way back together after that, like pieces of a puzzle gathering after all that time so that he could see the full picture, and the full picture was one of a kind.

His newfound bisexuality (though his mother Talia, and oldest sister Laura insisted that they’d had suspicion of it ever since he was in lower secondary school and started having a Justin Timberlake faze which involved horrible singing of his all–time hits and ogling at posters of the person in question, so they wouldn’t have called it his _newfound_ bisexuality, but they could agree to disagree) started with sloppy making out with boys in his dorm room, then later to handjobs and blowjobs in the bathrooms of clubs loud enough that no one could hear his partner and Derek’s cries as they came into each other’s hands and mouths. He had both boyfriends and girlfriends, but none of them seemed to last for very long. He graduated university, celebrated, got drunk with his fellow uni friends, among them were Erica, Boyd and Isaac, and continued doing the only thing in his life that made him absolutely ecstatic with joy: being an artist.

Derek’s life was good, great even – then came Kate Argent and blew his growing puzzle into a hundred pieces.

He first met her at an art exhibition for one of Derek’s friends. She flirted, he flirted back. They exchanged names, then phone numbers and later that night they went to bed together. The next morning he found her inside his atelier, which had been locked when he’d gone to bed with her the night previous, looking at his art with a hungry gleam in her eyes. He should have known right then that there was something off with her, but when she pulled out an excuse that “the door was open and I was looking for the bathroom” in her seductive voice while only wearing Derek’s shirt from yesterday, all traces of suspicion vanished from his mind, replaced by lust.

They were an item for one month and during that time Derek found himself completely taken with this interesting and mysterious woman. When he finally took Kate with him to meet his family they didn’t take to her like he had hoped. The Hales argued that she didn’t seem in it for the long haul and that she seemed fake, but Derek was enchanted by Kate and couldn’t understand what they had against her. When he thought about it now he understood that he was biased, as biased as a man smitten with another person could be.

Kate’s spell on him, though, eventually broke one day when he arrived home earlier than expected, and found her and two of her accomplices who he’d up until then been told were her brothers, stacking up his finished art from the atelier in large plastic bags. Luckily his dad was a cop so he stepped out of the apartment before they saw him and called Joshua up, voice shaky with anger. A few moments later the police arrived and brought a screaming Kate and her “brothers” out of his life and into jail.

The policemen checked his apartment, and Derek confirmed that nothing had been stolen; he’d been home just in time to catch them in the act. So why had it still felt like Kate had stolen something from him after all? For a time afterwards he had trouble trusting people, because trusting more than often lead to heartache. So he let out his frustrations and doubt into his art until he found that the hurt from Kate had dimmed and he felt more like his old self.

It was half a year after that time that his little brother Jeremy died in a car accident and those wounds remained to this day, like a empty hole into his heart that could never be filled again. Still to this day he felt the heartache every time he remembered his little brother and how they’d shared similar interest in art even though Jeremy had only reached the age of nine and was young, too young to have been taken away from the rest of the Hales. Too young.

Derek hadn’t touched acrylic painting for years after that – three years to be exact. It was too painful to paint in that way because it reminded him of that Jeremy and himself would never again paint those acrylic landscape painting that they were so fond of together. Not painting at all seemed like a better option than painting by his lonesome, only to be reminded that he didn’t have a painting partner any more. Therefore he stopped painting that way, put all of his acrylic painting, brushes, canvases and other related things into a big box and hid it inside a storage closet in his atelier, not to be opened until three years later after a random meeting with a man that made his world spin and his hands tingle with the urge to paint something new and lasting.

Despite Derek’s vivid imagination that had followed him through life and grown into something he used in his art to express what he could not put into words, Derek had never been able to perfectly recreate a person in his head from memory. Which is why when he saw a man his height with buzz cut hair and with a grey suit among the crowd in his art exhibition, Derek wasn’t sure if his imagination had just become really _really_ good, or if that really _was_ Stiles standing with his back to Derek just a few feet away from Derek’s grasp. In Derek’s own art exhibition.

Derek took a deep breath and tried to calm his mind which was already running on overdrive from all of the people around him looking and silently judging his art. As if that wasn’t enough weight on his shoulders, Derek – after a second of deep consideration – concluded that he was about 98 percent sure that this hallucination or whatever it was, was his brain’s way of telling him that he had a brain tumour. That was the only obvious explanation to why he was imagining the person he’d been dreaming about for a week now standing in the same room as him. Though, just to be sure he really wasn’t imagining the entire thing, Derek took a one in a million chance.

“Wha – Stiles, is that you?” Derek said out loud after moving closer to what he was convinced could only be the doing of his vivid imagination, not the real Stiles.

The person’s entire body froze and then he slowly turned around to face Derek. Derek was a couple of seconds away from a heart attack when he became aware of that a) he did not have a brain tumour after all, or it was a really detailed one that managed to create a more than perfect version of Stiles with his beautiful moles and everything, b) it really _was_ Stiles standing in front of him in a goddamn tailored suit and looking at Derek with a mouth open in awe, and c) if Stiles was there that meant that he would eventually see the main piece for Derek’s exhibition that Derek basically painted _because of him_ , and Derek had to get Stiles out _right the fuck then_ before he died of mortification.

“D–Derek?” Stiles stuttered out, his face growing hot under Derek’s gaze and Derek should so not have found that adorable but he did.

There were so many questions running through Derek’s head but he just picked obvious one and asked it out loud. “Stiles, what are you doing here?” He could only imagine the dazed expression that Stiles was seeing on his face right then. It was probably similar to the expression Stiles wore.

Stiles scratched his head with one arm and smiled crookedly in an obvious flustered manner. “Uhm, art!” he said, pointing around the room surrounding them. “I am here to look at art. Obviously.” His face flushed even more and Derek could spot the lie from a mile ahead but he let it slide, only because he enjoyed Stiles’ reaction. “I mean, why else would I be here? In the same art exhibition as you? Wearing a fancy suit and looking at sketches of half–naked men.” His eyes drifted to his left, where a couple of Derek’s art pieces with naked male motives hung on the walls. Derek couldn’t help the small flush that began covering his cheeks at the realisation that Stiles had seen some of his naked art mostly of what were his previous lovers. Of course he’d been aware that people would see it and maybe even buy it when he put the pieces in the exhibition, but that was just people. Somehow Stiles fell into a different and more meaningful category than “just people”.

“Which is such a coincidence by the way!” Stiles continued rambling in an utterly adoring way. “The us being in the same art exhibition, I mean, not the naked male motives in your pieces. I sort of already guessed you were gay from how you sucked my face like a pro last week.” Stiles only then seemed to realize where they were standing and just what he was saying and promptly shut his pretty mouth.

“And from the fact that you asked me, remember?” Derek reminded him because he sure remembered. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever forget that entire meeting. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever forget _Stiles_.

“Eh, what?” Stiles blinked his eyes a couple of times and moved his gaze, which had been pointed at Derek’s lips, to look him straight in the eyes.

“I said that it was one of the first thing you asked me, whether if I was gay or not. The “sucking of faces”, as you so nicely put it, came later.”

“You remember that, huh?” Stiles’ sheepish smile made Derek’s heart melt ten times over.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it all week,” Derek confessed calmly and just as the words were out of his mouth he gave himself a mental slap in the face. _Stop acting like a hormonal teenager, christ Derek. You’re a perfectly respectful adult so start acting like it._

“Mmmm,” Stiles hummed thoughtfully and bit slightly on his lower lip. Derek’s eyes followed the movement instinctively before he caught himself doing it and looked into Stiles’ eyes instead. Stiles’ mesmerising, creamy brown eyes. Yeah, that didn’t help much either with the situation he was having. One side of him was screaming to touch Stiles and never let him go, and the other side was pointedly reminding him that if Stiles stayed he would eventually wander and find the painting that he inspired, or even worse, bump into the rest of the Hales that were scattered around the room like the bombs in Minesweeper that he really did not want Stiles to hit. Derek would _never_ hear the end of it if they knew that Stiles had shown up there of all places. He would be teased to death. And Laura, that wraith, would probably call it the “love story of all times” and publish a book about it with embarrassing details about Derek’s personal life. “So you’ve been thinking about me, huh?” Stiles finally spoke, taking a step closer to Derek.

“Err, no, of course not – I mean yes, of course I have, but I didn’t think you would– “ Derek stuttered – and Derek _never_ stuttered – but stopped when he felt soft fingers trace over his wrist in a comforting manner.

 Stiles eyes were fixed on where they were touching when he said, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you either, you know.” His eyes locked with Derek’s then. “It’s been driving me crazy all week. _You’ve_ been driving me crazy. And when I found out about your art exhibition I couldn’t miss out on the opportunity to meet you again, I knew I’d regret it forever if I did.”

“I’m glad you did,” Derek assured, and when had Stiles moved so close to him? Or had it been him who had moved closer to Stiles? He was sure they hadn’t been that close just a few minutes ago. Now Stiles was only a couple of centimetres away from him and Derek only needed to tilt his head slightly to the left and move a bit forward for their lips to tou–

“Excuse me, young man,” a sudden voice sounded right next to them and he and Stiles jumped apart from each other in shock, faces flushed.

“Yes, ma’am,” Derek replied automatically, still flustered from his encounter with Stiles, and turned around to face the elderly woman standing next to them dressed up in a floral dress. She held a small cane in her right hand and the entirety of her seemed to scream “I am the kindest grandmother you will ever meet”. Derek found that he liked her instantly.

The woman straightened her glasses. “Would you happen to be the creator of all of these works of art?”

“Yes ma’am, I’m Derek Hale.”

Her eyes brightened instantly. “Then I would like to make a purchase, young man. Picture number 14, please.” She pointed to the picture in question a wall nearby and both Stiles and Derek turned around to take a look at it. It was made with watercolour with a motive of a cartoon version of a grumpy elderly fellow standing in front of a car repair shop and pointing out the flat tire on his walker, asking the mechanics if they can have it changed by 12’o clock because he has a BINGO gathering to attend.

Stiles let out a small adorable snort at the picture, hiding his smile behind his hand and Derek’s heart warmed. “It reminds me of my husband,” the elderly lady explained, “our anniversary is next week you see, and I thought I’d get him something nice so that old man can stop moaning about that we have so little art in our house.”

“Wait!” Stiles exclaimed with realisation, pointing at the elderly lady. “I know you!”

The woman turned to him and strained her eyes in concentration while looking at Stiles. “You do look familiar,” she mused in thought. “Ah, yes, the bookshop salesclerk. Still hopelessly in love with that man of yours?” Stiles grimaced and Derek noticed that he was looking anywhere but at him. “You did seem rather out of it the other day, m’dear.” Another groan came from Stiles and Derek broke into a smile. Even though he had no idea where the conversation was going he still found Stiles’ reaction charming. “It was a bit disappointing customer service from your side I have to admit, but that striking young co-worker of yours made it up in buckets with his charm.” She paused and let out a smile. “Well, did you find that man of yours that you were moaning on and on about? You do remind me of me when I found my Wilson, all bright eyed and flushed cheeks.” She looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to answer. Derek took that second to gather what the elderly lady had just talked about and his smile widened when he finally understood. They were talking about him. Stiles had been pining for _him_.

“O– _kay_.” Stiles dragged the word out, fingers tapping against his suit jacket. “This is sufficiently awkward, but yes I found him,” he said, giving Derek a modest smile. To the elderly lady he made what was probably supposed to be a discreet point of his hand over to Derek’s direction and a small cough. Derek tried not to laugh at the lady’s face as she understood their connection.

“I see, well aren’t you two as sweet as cotton candy on a warm summer day!” Before they knew it she had stepped closer and petted both of their cheeks with a smile on her face. “Live your lives to the fullest, sweets. If you don’t, you’ll regret it.” She took a step back and Derek felt an almost calmness take over him with the thought that this random lady approved of their relationship – bond, whatever it was.

Feeling someone touch his hand he looked down and saw Stiles’ fingers entwine with his own. His heart felt like it was beating out of his ribcage. “Do you regret it, ma’am? Your husband, I mean,” Stiles asked gently. Derek gave their entwined hands a squeeze.

Her head turned until she was looking at an old man across the room, probably around her age, holding a cane and gazing at Derek’s art. “Not for one second,” she answered truthfully, still watching her husband with a fond smile. Stiles also smiled at Derek and squeezed his hand in return.

“Ma’am, if you walk to the entrance of the room there are people there who can help you with your purchase,” Derek said as politely as possible to the elderly lady. “And thank you for your support, I’m glad you liked some of some of my work.”

She nodded once and after giving them another smile she walked away from them, only to stop for a second to say, “Don’t screw it up, sweets,” over her shoulder before continuing walking until she was out of their sight.

“ _So_ ,” Stiles began, dragging the word out like he was tasting it on his tongue. “Apparently that happened.”

Derek turned around to face Stiles. “Hmm, I wonder who the mysterious man she was talking about was. The one she said you fancied?” Derek’s forehead crinkled in amusement. “Do I have to fight someone else for your hand?” It was worth keeping up his façade only to see Stiles stutter about with his words.

“Wh–What are you talking about, she didn’t say anything about me fancying anyone, where did you even get that fro – and even if I had, ok, let’s say there was this – this person that I _fancied_ , as you so nicely put it, I wouldn’t need you to fight for anyone’s hand, because first off this isn’t the 1600ths, we don’t do wooing and fighting for someone’s hand, and secondly, I would have fought for my own hand thank you very much, and yes I know that I just quoted that Irish girl in Brave so shut it.” Stiles took a deep breath to get oxygen into his lungs after talking without stop. “Thirdly, you know she was talking about you, you little shit, because you’re the only think I’ve been thinking about all week long, so double shut it.”

“Stiles, breathe,” Derek said soothingly when Stiles was about to start talking again. Stiles did what he said and after a couple of deep breaths he was back to normal. “You know I fancy you too, right? I would have swept you off your feet and pressed you against a wall by now if it hadn’t been for my exhibition and the group of people–“ he was abruptly cut off by Stiles’ lips against his own. _Fucking finally_ , he thought and sneaked a hand around Stiles’ waist, moving so that they were closer together. Heat spread through his entire body and he felt Stiles’ fingers touch the nape of his neck, hands holding lightly as if Stiles couldn’t bear to let him go.

Derek quite liked that thought.

He nipped playfully at Stiles’ bottom lip and felt Stiles laugh against their mouths, but it was soon swallowed by a small moan as Derek traced the tip of his fingers through Stiles’ buzz cut hair and kissed him harder, all finesse gone. Stiles followed by slipping the tip of his tongue inside Derek’s mouth, a simple tease of what to come that did its job too thoroughly because he suddenly became aware of how tight his pants had gotten around his crotch, and he really didn’t want to get hard in front of all of these people. His family was there somewhere, for god’s sake. Laura would tease him mercilessly for the rest of his life.

They continued their little game of slow kissing like the other person was a drug they couldn’t get enough of until their lungs ultimately failed them and they had to breathe properly. Derek rested his head against Stiles’ forehead, breathing in and out deeply. He’d never thought he would see Stiles again, least not get to kiss and touch him again. It was all a lot to take in, but he felt happier than he’d been in a while.

“That was, um, wow,” Stiles whispered to him, his voice swaying slightly like he had a hard time believing what they’d just done.

“My thought exactly”, Derek whispered back, and then, “Why are we whispering?”

Stiles’ eyes shifted slightly around the room. “Because people are watching us.”

Derek took a quick look around, but there weren’t many people looking at them, just a handful. To be honest, it was surprising how few people _were_ paying attention to them; he’d thought someone would have called security to get them taken out of the premises or something with the way they had been going. Still, he was glad. It saved him from a lot of trouble, like telling the security guys that it was actually his art exhibition they were throwing him out of.

Yeah, that would have been sufficiently awkward.

The fact that so few were looking also probably meant that instead of looking at the two men making out inside an art exhibition, they were actually looking at the art, which pleased Derek very much. He had hoped that a lot of his art would be sold, but so far he only knew of that one painting the elderly lady purchased. He hadn’t seen Laura or Lydia around either since the opening, and those two were supposed to keep him updated on the purchases and remind him to mingle with the crowd. He wondered where they’d gone off to. He gave the people who stared at them a small cheeky smile and a wave of his hand, and they instantly snapped out of it and awkwardly turned to focus on something else.

Bringing his attention back to Stiles he said, “There are only a few, don’t worry. Besides, we’ve had more people looking before and came out of that last affair pretty good, don’t you think?”

Stiles smiled at him again. “Yes we did. You know, about what happened last week, you wouldn’t be interested in–“

“Derek!” a stressed voice said from his right, cutting Stiles short. He turned and saw Laura walk over to him in quick movements. The first thing he noticed was her face, which was seething with shock and rage.

“Laura? What is going on?” He walked closer to her and touched her arm. She was shaking slightly.

Laura’s voice was raging when she spoke in low tones, clearly trying not to shout. “Oh that little bitch, thinking she can just stroll in here after what she did. I want to smash her fucking head into the wall.” Her hands clenched together into fists and he wrapped his fingers around them, trying to comfort her. He felt Stiles put a hand on his forearm, a steady pressure to tell him that he was there if he needed him.

Derek’s forehead scrunched as he tried to understand what his sister was talking about. “What are you talking about? Who is _she_?”

Right after he had asked the question he understood who his sister was talking about. There was only one person who could make his sister angry like that.

Kate Argent.

“Kate Argent,” Laura echoed his thoughts. “I just saw her walk through the entrance. I seriously considered throwing her out the door again or breaking the nearest bottle of Champagne against her fucked up head, but I didn’t want to cause a fuss. She was alone this time, no supposedly “brothers” with her, but Derek, if she’s here that means that –“

“That she’s here to fuck something up, yes I know,” Derek interrupted. “I know her well enough to know that she’s going to try something. I’ve had a restraint order against her ever since she got out of prison so she wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t to create a mess.” Laura gave him a sympathetic smile. “It’s good that you didn’t throw her out the door, that would just have gone how she’d wanted it to.” He squeezed her hand. “I need you to call security, explain the situation, but tell them to stand by. I don’t want them interfering to begin with – that will only make the situation worse. I’ll talk to her first and then walk out of the building. If she tries to follow, which she will, security can take her outside, where she can’t create a scene in front of everyone. Okay?”

Laura nodded, more at ease now than when she’d first came up to him, but still willing to beat up Kate with the nearest sharp object, Derek would bet. “But how will you get her to follow you outside?”

Derek gave her a small smile. “By not giving her the one thing she wants most except for my money and art: me. She was a liar and a thief all right, but some screwed up side of her still cared about me, wanted me, at least it seemed that way from a couple of the letters she sent to me from prison.”

“Excuse me,” Stiles interrupted them, and Derek would have forgotten that Stiles was there hadn’t it been for the steady hand on his forearm. Derek’s thoughts had gone off like a bomb once Laura had told him that Kate was in his exhibition, the only thing keeping him in check being Stiles’ reassuring presence and his angry big sister. “Would someone like to tell me what is going on? Because all I heard was a bunch of sentences that didn’t make sense at all. And why am I getting the feeling that you two are acting like a bomb is about to go off?!” Stiles whispered that last part in harsh tones, probably not wanting to warn the rest of the people in the exhibition with talk of bombs. Derek thought that was a good idea.

“Because one is about to go off, in the shape of Kate Argent. To make a long story short: Kate is my ex–girlfriend, she pretended to date me for weeks and then she tried to steal all my art from my apartment, but was caught in the act and sent to prison for a while but now she’s back and probably up to no good as always.” Derek took a deep breath, feeling the weight of this whole thing rest on him. “Feel included in the conversation now?” He sent him a small smile, trying to convey that he wasn’t angry at him, just stressed.

“Eh, yeah,” Stiles answered, but squeezed Derek’s forearm once to let him know he understood.

“Who is he?” Laura asked, but it was spoken more like a demand.

“Laura, Stiles. Stiles, Laura.” He pointed to each of them. “Now that we’re all acquainted, Laura, you need to go and talk to security right away. And for gods sake, keep the rest of our family away from her, or there won’t be much of Kate left for security to drag away.”

“Ahhhh, this is the muse!” Laura exclaimed with the first hint of happiness since their conversation started.

“Go!” Derek told her, but rolled her eyes at Laura’s excitement.

Laura went and Derek was left with a remaining confused Stiles and his mad ex roaming around in his art exhibition. It was so not how he had pictured the evening going

“Well, that was a lot to take in,” Stiles commented. “Do you always have this much excitement in your life, Mr. Hale?” His voice was curious but the small smile on his face told Derek that he was playful.

“Well, you know, every other Saturday or so,” he joked back. It felt good to lighten the mood a bit, even under the weird circumstances he had found himself in. The joking stopped abruptly once he saw Kate walking on the opposite side of the room, looking around, but luckily not seeing him due to the crowd of people.

Derek put his attention back to Stiles and took a hold of his arm in a gentle hold. “Do you trust me?” he asked sincerely while looking into Stiles’ eyes.

Stiles’ mouth opened and then closed in shock at the sudden question. Then started the rambling. “Well, you know we’ve only known each other for less than an hour in total, and I barely know anything about you other than your name and I also thought you used to be a stripper for a second but that turned out to be Allison and Scott fucking with me so I don’t think that anymore of course. Not to say that you couldn’t be a stripper, because trust me, you would be a great stripper with that body, and that jaw, oh my god you could cut through stone with that thing.” Stiles groaned in humiliation. “Aaaand I shouldn’t have said that. Why did I say that?”

“Yes or no, Stiles,” Derek pressed fondly, wishing that they had more time to talk this out but his time glass was running out.

“Yes dammit, yes I trust you. Despite knowing next to nothing about you except that you’ve been haunting my mind for a week now. So yes,” Stiles said each word like he was aggravated with himself for saying it. “Why?” Derek blinked a couple of times before he started smiling dazedly at Stiles.

“Good.”

 

**********

 

Good? _Good?!_ That’s all he had to say after he had confessed all of that to him? Only a simple “good”? Stiles was going to murder him. Slowly and painfully, with a spoon. Scott would just have to wait for his bloody turn.

Derek suddenly stepped closer to him and put a hand on his cheek, which was surprisingly soft and warm. “I’m going to kiss you now, Stiles, and I would prefer if you didn’t hit my pretty face for doing so,” was all Derek said, and oh Stiles was _definitely_ going to kill him because that was the same thing that–

Then there were lips against his own and all Stiles could think about was that Derek was _totally_ pulling a Stiles on him. _That handsome son of a bitch!_

Soon he couldn’t focus on anything else than the way that Derek’s fingers brushed over his cheek faintly, the way that he caved when Stiles moved a hand around the back of Derek’s neck and squeezed – something that he would have to remember for future use (that was, if they ever got out of this night with all limbs intact). Stiles really hoped they did because he wanted to spend months and years discovering everything there was to know about Derek, and he had a feeling Derek wanted to do the same to him.

The kissing continued in peaceful bliss and Stiles never wanted to stop tasting Derek’s lips, never wanted to let go, and that was all kinds of terrifying for him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt that way about someone before, but he was sure he was completely mental for feeling that way. After all, they’d barely been in each other’s presence for an hour in total and he was already feeling the urge to write a haiku about Derek’s stubble for crying out loud. That couldn’t be grounds for a personal healthy psychology, least not for a healthy relationship. Though he’d heard love was sometimes crazy, Stiles hadn’t really understood it until them. And was that what he felt about Derek? Love? It felt like such a strange concept.

Well, whatever it was, it was strong and growing like never before. Stiles hadn’t quite decided yet if that was a good thing or not, but he was betting on the former.

Somehow he’d lost track of time against Derek’s lips, and before he knew it there was a sharp and female voice speaking right next to them. “Well, well, what do we have here?”

They both looked over in the direction of the voice and what Stiles saw shocked him. The woman was about his height with dirty blonde and slightly curly hair, wearing a red cocktail dress, or whatever those tight fitting dresses were called. The smile she wore was ecstatic on the edge of maniacal. He felt Derek straighten next to him and put a hand around his waist.

“You’ve grown up quite nicely, Derek Hale,” Kate complimented Derek, and her voice reminded Stiles of the sly sounds of a viper. Stiles instantly disliked her.

“Kate,” Derek said stiffly, and had he the urge to throw the nearest object at her forcefully, he sure didn’t show it. “I see you’re out of prison. Too bad: prison suited you.”

That only made her laugh loudly. “Cheeky, I like it. You don’t hold back, I always liked that about you. Especially in bed,” she said flirtatiously and winked, but it only sounded nauseating to Stiles’ ears. Stiles felt Derek shudder against him slightly. He knew had to do something or Derek was probably going to jump on Kate right there and then, and that wouldn’t end well.

“Funny, I’ve always felt like Derek was more of the teddy bear type in bed. You know; easy on the eyes and a major cuddler,” Stiles said out loud before he could stop himself and then mentally face palmed himself when both Kate’s and Derek’s attention turned to him.

Kate raised her eyebrows as she checked him out quickly. “And who are you supposed to be?”

Stiles’ looked at Derek, who was trying to communicate something with his eyes, and Stiles knew Derek was telling him to “please act with me on this”. Stiles gave him a warm smile, thinking it was only fair that the tables were turned around this time. The good thing about this time, though, was that they already knew how to play the game.

He turned to face Kate. “Me? I’m Stiles, Derek’s boyfriend.” Kate’s smug smile turned into a frown. “I haven’t had the misfortune of meeting you yet, but I guess this time is as good as any. And you are?”

Kate looked at Derek, Derek stared right back at her with a blank face. “Oh, you haven’t told him about me, have you?” She clicked her tongue. “Oh my, Derek, we can’t have that, can we?” Turning to Stiles she said, “I’m Kate Argent.”

“Kate Argent, huh? Hmmm…” Stiles pretended to think hard for a moment. “Nope, doesn’t ring a bell, sorry,” he apologised sarcastically.

“It’s a shame really, that you haven’t told your _boyfriend_ about me,” she spoke to Derek. “And I who thought we had so many good memories together.”

“Well, you probably haven’t been worth mentioning, then,” Stiles backfired in his best fake sweet voice.

“It’s true,” Derek added. “You really haven’t been.”

Stiles felt like he had to end whatever was going on between the three of them as quickly as possible. He didn’t want the rest of the guests chatting happily about in the room to know what was happening, knowing how causing a scene would probably ruin Derek’s special night. Therefore Stiles thought it was about time for their last and final act. “Well, now that this _lovely_ meeting is over, Derek, munchkin, I forgot my phone in your car, would you mind following me outside to get it? You have the keys after all.”

Derek followed his cue like he was a born actor. “Of course,” he said and laced his fingers together with Stiles’. Together they walked away from Kate without a second glance, heading for the entrance. Behind them Stiles thought he heard Kate muttering to herself, “He just walked away from me, how dare he..” and then the sharp clicks of high heels following them. They walked past several people on the way out, and Derek nodded and gave a short “hello” so some of the probably familiar faces, making it seem like they weren’t hasting to get outside. They didn’t bother getting their coats, Stiles figured that even if it was cold outside they could endure it for the time it took security to get a hold of Kate.

Just as they had stepped outside Kate’s voice boomed behind them. “How dare you walk away from me like that?!” They took a few more steps to get some distance between themselves and the art exhibition and then stopped, bodies turned halfway around.

Derek sounded very tired when he asked, “What do you want, Kate?”

“To know why you could ever think that you could be happy with _that_!” She practically spat the last word out while pointing at Stiles. “I mean, look at him!”

He turned his head to give Stiles a smitten look, but the corners of his lips were turned upwards, giving Stiles an impression that he’s trying hard not to laugh. “I know, he’s amazing, isn’t he?”

That was the last straw. Stiles couldn’t listen to Derek say that about him – acting or not – and _not_ kiss him. So that’s what he did, with a smile on his face which made it a bit strange to kiss him, but Derek started smiling as well so they both looked weird. Stiles really didn’t mind – they could both be weird together.

He barely noticed Kate struggling in the background while shouting angrily “Let me go!”. Stiles guessed that the cavalry had arrived in time to take Kate into custody. Good. That meant he could keep kissing Derek.

They only broke apart once something cold and wet started falling upon them. “It’s snowing,” Derek pointed out, looking baffled at the snow that fell soundlessly around them.

A snowflake fell on Derek’s nose and Stiles started laughing joyfully. “It seems to do that when we’re in the same vicinity.”

Derek laughed as well, and _man, was that a good sound for him_ , Stiles thought. “You should do that more,” Stiles commented, watching Derek smiling and looking wondrously at the snow surrounding them. It made for quite the picture, so he grabbed his phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and snapped a quick picture when Derek wasn’t watching him. Looking at it he thought it would make a great addition to the last picture he’d taken of Derek when they first met and it had started snowing.

“Do what more?” he asked, looking away from the snow and to Stiles.

“Laugh.” Stiles smiled and shrugged. “It suits you.”

Giving Stiles a warm look he said, “I have the feeling that I’m going to be smiling a lot from now on,” and _who even says stuff like that?!_

Stiles’ heart did a double beat. “You’re going to give me a heart attack if you keep saying stuff like that,” he said and walked closer to Derek but ended up slipping on the wet ground and practically falling into Derek’s open arms. His cheeks warmed. “Not a single word,” he threatened once he was standing properly.

Derek tried to hide his grin but failed miserably. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Stiles was about to answer with a cheeky comment when someone made a loud couching noise next to them. He turned and saw that it was that woman from earlier on, Laura. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said sweetly with a sly smile on her face that told them she knew _exactly_ what she was interrupting. It was kind of scary how much she reminded Stiles of Lydia right there and then. He secretly hoped they would never meet, or he was sure to be in trouble.

“Of course not, we were just standing here. Out in the snow. Talking about stuff.” Stiles paused and made a random clicking noise with his tongue. “Yeah. That’s what we were doing.”

Laura laughed in a way similar to how Derek had laughed, with her eyes crinkled and putting her soul into it. “Oh I like you, Muse, I like you very much. I was just coming over here to tell you that Kate is being taken to the police station as we speak, but I called the police so there are some officers here that has to take both of your statements and so on.” She shrugged. “Standard protocol or something, they told me it wouldn’t take long.”

They both nodded but then Stiles backtracked the conversation in his head and, “Wait, did you just call me Muse? Because the band is great and all, but I didn’t think I looked like any of the band members.”

Laura looked at him like he was joking. “Wait, you don’t know?” She turned to Derek and gave him an angry mimic. “He doesn’t know?!”

Derek grabbed a light hold of Stiles’ arm and started directing them away from Laura in a hurry. “What, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Bye Laura.”

Stiles just let himself be dragged away. Whatever the reason was for Derek wanting to keep him away from Laura, he was sure that it couldn’t be crazier that what had just happened between them and Derek’s ex.

 

**********

 

The questioning didn’t take long, just a few minutes with basic question from the police which Stiles tried to answer the best he could. They told Derek that they were going to contact him about the progress in Kate’s case later on since she had violated her restraining order, then Derek shook hands with the officer and the police car drove away while the two of them stood still watching.

A hand touched Stiles’ arm. He to his side and saw that it was Derek’s hand. “We should go inside, join the party.”

“That sounds pretty brilliant right now,” Stiles replied. “I never got to taste that Champagne they’re serving because I was too afraid I’d mess everything up if I had alcohol in my system, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t exited to see the rest of your art.” He scratched the back of his head, looking Derek in the eyes. “That is, if you want me to see it?”

Derek only entwined their fingers and started walking back into the art exhibition in answer. Stiles followed, taking that as a yes.

Entering the exhibition was as thrilling the second time around as it was the first. This time the exhibition was in full effect, with a room filled with people dressed up to enjoy the best art that Derek had to offer. Stiles felt as if he would never quite understand how talented Derek was because everywhere he looked he was put off by the amount of work and talent it must have taken for Derek to create each art piece.

Being led hand in hand by the artist himself through the exhibition caught a couple of people’s attention, though none of their looks showed anything other than surprise and happiness for the two of them. Stiles guessed that a bit of handholding was nothing next to what they had been doing before Laura interrupted them with news of Kate, though, he did start wondering if someone had taken their picture without them noticing. He sincerely hoped mild kissing didn’t count within his dad’s “disturbing pictures” category, or else he had to prepare himself for his horrid childhood production of High School Musical’s song “We’re all in this together” being uploaded to YouTube. If that happened Stiles would take up a new residency under a very big rock to hide himself from the shame.

Derek stopped Stiles’ walking halfway into the room with a hand to his wrist. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I need to talk to my family, they’re probably wondering what’s happening.” Derek’s warm fingers tracing over the bare of his wrist made Stiles shiver inside. “I’ll be right back and we’ll talk. Properly this time.” Derek gave him a last smile and walked in the opposite direction they’d entered, further into the room. Stiles could still feel Derek’s touch on his wrist as he saw Derek stop near a group of people about 15 meters away from himself. Among them he recognised Laura, but the others were unknown to him.

A waitress with a tray of Champagne walked past Stiles, and he quickly nicked a glass from the tray, taking a sip while musing over the past half hour or so that had passed. Honestly, it had gone beyond his deepest expectations that Derek even wanted to see him again after basically violating him in the streets, and then when they’d finally gotten something real going he had to leave abruptly to pick up his godchild. _And he actually kissed me! Then his ex came and tried to ruin things, but he said he wanted us to talk properly this time so that has to count for something, right?_ Stiles was ecstatic with joy.

His phone vibrated in his suit jacket pocket and he took it out with fingers slightly cold from holding the chilled glass. It was a new message from Scott. “ _How’s it going, dude? Seen your Prince Charming yet?”._

Stiles texted back with his available hand. “ _Man, you won’t_ believe _what has happened! I’ll explain when I get home, but it’s going great, and yes, I’ve seen Derek. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an arse look that good in suit pants as his does. I swear to god, you could bounce a nickel off that thing_.” He added that last part because it gave him immense pleasure to imagine Scott’s face while reading it. Scott’s very horrified face.

The reply came almost immediately. “ _TMI Stiles!_ ” and then “ _Allison says to tell you to rock dat bootey_ ”.

A smile broke out on Stiles’ face. Of course Allison would say something like that.

He put the phone back in his pocket and took another sip of his glass. To pass the time he started circling the room, looking at the different pieces of art Derek had on display. He was beginning to worry about Lydia. She’d left so suddenly in full tears, and Lydia rarely cried less it was because of something important. What she had said to him mid–cry about him deserving someone and “the wonderful frame and colours” made him wonder just what exactly had made her cry. Making an impulse decision – which was all he seemed to be doing these days – he decided that Derek could wait for a few moments until he found his friend. He tried to call her but all he got was her voicemail asking him to leave a message after the beep. He remembered the direction she had taken off to so he started making his way through the crowd, hoping that there was a toilet somewhere in the building since Lydia had said something about cleaning herself up and he figured that was the place to go.

He was stopped, though, by a hand touching his shoulder, and the moment he saw those perfectly manicured hands he knew it was Lydia who had stopped him. “Lydia!” he exclaimed, turning around so that they were facing each other. Her face showed no traces of that she’d been crying not so while ago, which Stiles guessed was one of the miracles of makeup. “Where did you run off to? I was worried about you.”

“I had to make myself presentable again. Can’t have the event planner walking about with makeup smeared across her face, now can we?” Her back straightened and she gave him an exited smile. “Now, what do you think? Wasn’t that the most beautiful piece of art?!” She sighed dreamingly. “And for him to have painted you – out of everyone – into his picture was so romantic! There’s a declaration of love, if I’ve ever seen one. You should keep that one.” Her smile faltered a bit and she looked around them. “Where is that man of yours anyway?”

Stiles tried his very best not to look like the human equivalent of a question mark, he really did, but he guessed that’s what his face portrayed because it sure felt like it. “Say what again? What picture?”

Lydia was still searching the room for someone; Stiles’ guess would be Derek since he’s the only man he’d talked about lately, when she said, “Well, Derek’s painting, of course. What did you think I was talking about, Stiles?” That was the moment Lydia’s brain seemed to catch up on the situation and she stilled where she stood. Turning with a face that screamed “oops” she looked at him, and most likely noticed his confused face. “You didn’t know, did you?”

“Nope,” Stiles confessed, popping the “p”.

“I probably shouldn’t have told you that, should I?” Stiles shook his head to signalise that no, if Derek had wanted Stiles to know that he’d painted a fucking _painting_ of him, he would most likely have told him already.

She bit her red lipstick covered lips. “You’re going to make me show you the painting, aren’t you?” Stiles nodded his yes because he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to see a painting that Derek _fucking_ Hale had painted of him.

_If he hadn’t wanted him to see it, he shouldn’t have put it up in his art exhibition for all to see_ , Stiles told himself as an excuse as Lydia soundlessly lead him further into the room to a part he’d never been in until then. On the wall closing off the very large room, furthest away from the entrance, there was only a single piece of art, though the wall was long enough to room plenty more. Stiles wondered if the piece of art was of bigger significance than the rest since it got the whole wall by itself, or if Derek had simply run out of pictures to hang up, so he put one of his biggest pieces up on the singular wall to make the room seem more filled out.

There were a handful of people standing around the painting, pointing and commenting the picture. When he walked closer with Lydia in tow to see what all of the fuzz was about he froze instantly in his steps. He took a sharp intake of breath and his eyes were staring gobsmacked at the picture – no, painting, he corrected himself, acrylic to be exact – hanging all by its lonesome on the wall.

Stiles had seen a lot of beautiful things in his life, but few could be compared to the painting he then stood in front of, a painting Derek had made of _them_.

The frame was dark blue coloured wood with soft detailed carvings running along the entire frame with what looked like a couple of runes and a wavy pattern of lines. The colour of it matched the dark blue sky in the background of the picture, which was covering the sky over a green forest. _It was probably set in the summer_ , Stiles thought, out of everything to think about, because the pine trees and the grass underneath were in a fresh green colour, seen even in the shadow covered parts of the painting. The light source of the painting was a bright full moon standing in sharp contrast with the dark sky and the clouds covering it. It cast a light over some parts of the forest and the green grass covering the area where the forest ended. Only a couple of meters away from the ending of the tree line to the heavily tree covered background in the middle right of the picture, there was a medium sized river running from the left and sideways down to the middle of the painting.

Kneeling by the river with his back facing the tree line of the forest was Stiles.

It took him a couple of seconds to recognize himself, after all it wasn’t that often you saw a painting of yourself, but he concluded that it was definitely him. The same buzz cut hair, brown coloured eyes and shape of his jaw. Derek had even managed to get almost all of his moles spot on, which made him wonder just how good Derek’s memory was. In truth, Stiles couldn’t do much more than stare in wonder at, well, _himself_ really.

In the painting he was wearing a bright red hoodie with a white t–shirt under and dark jeans with what looked like blue converse shoes on. He wondered why Derek had chosen to put him in those clothes, it wasn’t at all what he’d been wearing during their first meeting, but he guessed that it wouldn’t make sense for him to wear winter clothes in a picture set in the summer, so he let it side. Still, though, there was something about that red hoodie that was screaming at him at first glance. He just couldn’t figure it out.

Painting–Stiles, which is what he decided to name the version of him in the painting only to make it easier for him to think (he considered naming it Mini–Stiles but found out that it just sounded way too wrong in his head), had his left hand gripping the soil by the edge of the riverside, the other reaching out to touch the surface of the water while he was bending over the edge to glance down into the water. The moonlight was reflected on the surface of the water and created a realistic light which shone up the area of the water that Painting–Stiles was looking down at. Painting–Stiles’ brown coloured eyes (and how Derek had somehow managed to get the perfect colour for them, Stiles could _not_ understand because his eyes had always been a tricky brown and golden colour mixture, but Derek had made them ridiculously realistic) were met with the sight of bright green eyes in the water. The eyes belonged to a wolf. Its hide was almost pure black and it was massive with a large muzzle, but just how big Stiles couldn’t see because the wolf was visible in the water only from the chest and upwards.

At first glance Stiles thought that the wolf was literally on top of the water, but that made no sense what so ever to him so he stepped a bit closer, probably looking like a weirdo in the eyes of the others around him but he was too amazed by all of it to actually make himself care. Besides, he found it hard to humiliate himself more than he’d already done.

The waves in the water that Stiles didn’t see at first glance were actually pretty noticeable, and they floated across the image of the wolf, making it wavy and obvious that it was a reflection of some kind. The hand that Painting–Stiles had stretched out to touch the surface of the water with, created a small rippling effect in the area around the hand. It all looked immensely realistic.

Looking at the full picture it was clear that the wolf was Derek. If it hadn’t been for the familiar green eyes Stiles might not have recognized who it was, but there was something about the wolf that Stiles felt was familiar. He understood then why Painting–Stiles didn’t look confused or shocked at the wolf – he sure would have if he’d seen a reflection of a wolf in a river – but instead reached out to touch the surface of the water on which the wolf was reflected and looked amazed at the creature staring back at him. They seemed familiar to each other, like two pieces of the same puzzle separated by two different worlds. Stiles’ heart ached at the longing in their eyes, and how Painting–Stiles looked painfully happy in the presence of his wolf, even though they weren’t really together. Close, but still so far away.

Whatever it was that was hiding between the wolf and the man with the red hoodie (which he now understood was a not so subtle reference to little red riding hood, and Derek was going to pay for that so badly one day) couldn’t be put into words and Stiles liked the fact that Derek had tried to express something between the two of them that couldn’t be expressed. Still, he had succeeded in a way, because Stiles _understood_ the painting and what Derek was trying to tell him. He understood Derek’s longing for him and his bitter sweet view that together they were an opportunity that had been missed. They were almost together in the painting. Almost, but still not quite. It was the most painful word.

Derek wanted them to be together. He had painted a version of their meeting together which expressed angst and melancholy, but also love and happiness in that they at least had that cherished moment together. If Stiles had any doubts before about them possibly being together, then they were all disappeared by then.

In the middle of the beautiful frame covering the bottom part of the painting there was a silver nameplate. Engraved on the plate were the words “Something between You and Me” and under in cursive writing _Derek Hale_.  


  
  
He didn’t really have that much time to process the title or anything really before he felt a small tingly feeling in his back that told him to turn around, and so he did. Once he turned he saw that he was actually surrounded by a lot of people standing around the painting and staring in awe. Some looked at him a little strangely, probably because they recognized him from the painting, while others didn’t pay any attention to him. He barely spotted Lydia standing by the wall to his right and talking with a young woman, but she noticed him the moment he turned around and gave him a grimace over the crowd of people, giving a small tilt of her head in the direction of the woman she was talking to as if to signalize that she’s sorry for leaving him and that she’s having the most boring conversation of her life. At least that was what Stiles thought it meant. Over the years he’d become very good at interpreting the different faces Lydia made, but he didn’t always get it correct. Stiles shrugged his shoulders and gave her a smile, his way of telling her that it was all right.

There was still this feeling that he was being watched so he scanned the room with quick glances and finally found who had been staring at him. Derek stood still not far away from the crowd, his right foot placed a bit forward as if he had just been about to take another step when he stopped completely. His face was one of shock, and his eyes moved between looking at Stiles with horror and looking at the painting with even more horror. If Stiles hadn’t still been so shocked by everything the night had have to offer, he probably would have laughed at how adorable Derek looked, but seeing that he had quite the shock himself a few minutes prior he moved with quick steps instead until he was standing in front of Derek.

“Eh,” was all Derek got out and Stiles decided that they’d done enough talking for the night.

“Oh shut up.” He moved his left hand around Derek’s waist to drag him closer in a firm movement and then Stiles was kissing him. Derek barely had time to kiss him back before Stiles started mumbling between kisses. “You silly” _kiss_ “romantic” _kiss_ “artistic” _kiss_ “little asshole” _kiss_ “do you have” _kiss_ “any idea” _kiss_ “how stunning” _kiss_ “that was?”. Stiles felt Derek try to answer against his lip but he bit his lip hard to stop him from talking. “No” _kiss_ “you don’t get to talk right now” _kiss_ “because I have so much I want to tell you” _kiss_ “and I never want to let you go” _kiss_ “and oh my god I just understood why your sister called me “muse””.  He let out a laugh against their lips and he was so blissful that he could cry. He’d never felt anything this strong for someone before. “I’m your muse.”

“Yes you are,” Derek breathed back with a rough voice, and any restraints Stiles had went right out the window. He pulled Derek closer, hands cupping the top of his ass as they kissed slowly. Stiles wished he could freeze that moment and keep it in his wallet to open up and revisit whenever he wanted to, because he was one hundred percent sure he was radiating happiness.

They stood there in each other’s arms for a while, kissing softly and enjoying each other’s presence. For the first time since they’d met there was no third party to interrupt them or make them act like something they weren’t. No matter how much Stiles had enjoyed his opportunity to act as if he was in a cheesy gay romance novel it felt really good not to put up appearances for other people. For the first time they could just be themselves. Just Derek and Stiles.

Stiles liked that very much.

“You know, not that I have anything against a bit of pda,” Stiles whispered into Derek’s ear, feeling Derek’s scruff against his jaw with a sigh of pleasure,” but I really, _really_ want to get you naked and taste you all over.” He felt Derek shiver against him. “And I’m guessing that your art exhibition might not be the place to do that. But would that be something you might be interested in doing? With me. All sweaty and naked.”

Derek bit his earlobe. “You tease. I think I’ve mingled enough with the crowd by now, Laura can take care of the rest of the formalities in my stead. What do you say, want to get out of here and head somewhere more private?”

“Oh god yes.” Stiles groaned. “Not that I haven’t enjoyed this, because trust me, I _really_ have, but I need you naked like yesterday.”

He kissed Stiles one last time, a chaste kiss in comparison to the rest, and entwined their fingers together, holding him in a comforting grip. “I feel the same.”

Stiles turned around to look at the painting again. He was still struck with the same awe over its beauty and importance as he had been when he’d first seen it. “What will happen to it?”

Derek’s eyes cast downwards for a second before meeting his own. “Laura told me only a couple of minutes ago, it’s already been sold. Originally it wasn’t supposed to be for sale, but I didn’t want to keep the painting when I knew that I’d probably never see you again.” Stiles gave their entwined hands a squeeze. “Once it has been bought there are no take backs, unfortunately.”

“Oh.” Stiles couldn’t say that he wasn’t disappointed, because some part of him had been hoping that it wouldn’t be for sale. It felt like it belonged to them, so it was weird to imagine it hanging in some stranger’s house when it pictured Derek and Stiles’ relationship. “Hopefully it will bring someone else the same happiness it has brought me,” he said with a small smile. He gave the painting one last happy glance, committing it to memory, and walked away with Derek’s hand in his. He stopped when he had reached Lydia, who had apparently managed to escape from the woman she was talking to earlier, and pointed his right hand (discreetly, he thought, but Derek let out a laugh next to him so he guessed he had failed at that) at Derek and then gave her a thumbs up. Lydia practically beamed at him and ran (well, as much as a girl can run in high heels, that is) the small distance between them to give him a hug.

“Remember to use condoms!” She sing–songed into his ear. Stiles pushed her playfully away with a small “EY!” She then, to Stiles’ surprise, hugged Derek as well. Derek seemed to be surprised also, but he quickly snapped out of it to wrap his hands around her back and return the hug. Lydia’s lips moved close to Derek’s ear, but Stiles couldn’t hear what she was saying, and before he could properly focus the hug was over and Lydia left them with a small wink.

“What was that about?” Stiles asked curiously once they started making their way towards the exit again.

Derek huffed out a laugh. “She told me that if I hurt you she would castrate me and make my balls into decoration to hang from the rear–view mirror of her car.” He gulped. “Strangely I don’t think she’s kidding. She’s very terrifying, you know that, right?”

Stiles honestly couldn’t help the string of laughs that came out of his mouth. He tried to keep it in, he really did, but Derek’s honestly concerned and slightly scared face just pushed him over the edge. Derek gave him a harsh look. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he wheezed in between laughs. “You’re right, she can be terrifying when she wants to be, and she probably wasn’t joking either. She has a strange way of following up on her threats when it’s necessary.”

“Let’s hope it won’t be necessary, then, I’ve kind of grown attached to my balls over the years.”

Stiles’ right hand went up to touch his chest in mock shock. “Oh my god you did not just say that!” Derek, that cheeky bastard, only grinned at him.

Laura was standing by the entrance of the exhibition looking over a piece of paper when they reached her. “Well, the lover birds have returned!” she greeted them with a bit too much enthusiasm.

Derek only rolled her eyes at her fondly and asked, “Can you take over my social part for the evening? I’m leaving.”

She looked between the two of them. Stiles felt like he was a child that had just been caught sneaking out at night by his parents with the glance she was throwing in their direction. “ _Ahhh_ , I see. You go little bro, and yes I do mean that in a double sense.” She winked at him and Stiles could only imagine that Derek felt the need to hide under a rock for the next millennia or so. Stiles was well known to the feeling of embarrassment. “I’ll take care of everything.” Derek nodded gratefully to her and as they were walking away she called after them in a loud teasing voice. “Have fun you two!” They quickly grabbed their jackets from where they’d left them earlier and exited the building with flushed faces.

It wasn’t before they were out in the cold open air that Stiles started laughing. “Well, your sister is a bag of sunshine.”

Derek grimaced. “Yeah, she tends to do that to me. Constantly, really.”

“I get the feeling. My friends love to tease me mercilessly about whatever I embarrass myself with.”

“No siblings?” Derek asked and Stiles shrugged in answer.

“Nah, only me and my Pops, though he is dating my best friend’s mother, so me and Scott might be half siblings in the near future,” Stiles answered happily. “What about you? Except for Laura, I mean.”

“Enough of them for me to be teased on a daily basis,” he laughed, and _man_ , that laugh was glorious.

The wind around them shifted and the snow that was still falling blew right at them. “Your car or mine?” Derek asked.

“I’ve had a glass so I better not drive.”

Derek smiled at him. “Mine it is, then. I couldn’t even stomach the idea of drinking because I was so nervous about the whole exhibition that I was sure I would throw up.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. For the obvious reasons but also because your breath would have smelled like puke afterwards and I couldn’t have kissed you.” Stiles received a playful punch to the shoulder at that comment, witch, all right, he might have deserved.

Derek’s car wasn’t parked far away and they both hurried to get inside it and away from the cold snow. “Dude, you have a Camaro,” was the only thing Stiles could think of saying, because Derek drove a fucking _Camaro_. He touched the leather seats when they were both seated inside and shielded from the cold and shivered how perfect the car was. “I love you,” he whispered at it while he stroked the seats in an almost trans like state.

He heard Derek shift in the driver seat. “Do you need a moment alone with my car, Stiles?”

“She’s so beautiful,” he groaned. “Can I adopt her?” He looked up to his left and saw Derek with his hand in front of his mouth trying his best not to laugh at him. “Say what you will but we have a special connection.” He pointed at the dashboard of the car and then back at himself. “A _connection_ , Derek. You can’t break this apart.”

Derek only hummed in response and started the engine. Stiles thought he might start to drool at the wonderful sound of the engine.

“Your place or mine?” Stiles asked, his entire body thrumming with excitement for what the rest of the night had to offer. “Mine is a little under thirty minutes away.”

“I’m closer,” Derek responded and honest to god _winked_ at him. Stiles’ heart took a double thump.

Derek was turning out of the parking lot when Stiles remembered their conversation from earlier. “And for the record, I don’t hope Lydia will use your balls as car ornaments either because I am planning to grow quite familiar with them in the future,” Stiles stated as plain as he could. “Starting tonight.”

Derek’s entire face flushed from where he sat in the driver seat.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles had never felt anything like it before, but he guessed it was a feeling that started with the letter “l” and ended with an “e”. Four syllable word, straight across. Love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again, everyone. It's been a while, that's for sure. I would like to apologize for being such a grade A crappy writer for making you wait so long for this chapter. The funny thing is that I don't really have an excuse either, because my life has been going really slow lately and I've had plenty of opportunities to write.
> 
> *Throws porn at you as an apology and hides under a blanket*
> 
> The rating has changed with the addition of this new chapter and I would also advise you all to take a look at the updated tags. There shouldn't be any triggering material at all, and I've tagged most of the sex related scenes, so take a look there beforehand in case there are some things that don't tickle your fancy. The most important thing is for you to stay safe, lovelies!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

“Dude, you live in the richest part of town!” were the first words out of Stiles’ mouth as Derek parked his sweet ass Camaro outside of an apartment building in downtown Bath. Stiles could see Derek rolling his eyes at him as they walked out of the car and towards the entrance of the apartment buildings. Derek’s hand felt warm in his own. A young man dressed in fine clothing stood by the entrance of Derek’s building. As they reached the door, he opened it for them, nodding at them and greeting Derek with a “Good evening, Mr. Hale” and Stiles lost it.

“YOU HAVE A DOORMAN?” Stiles shouted in hushed tones at Derek once they were inside of – yup, that was a lobby. Derek’s life seemed to have been taken directly out of the plot of a movie and dropped inside Stiles’ uninteresting life. Not that he was complaining, well, sort of. “No one has a doorman! Only posh people. And royals. Do you need to be telling me something, Derek? Are you secretly one of those things?”

Derek took his hand in his and directed him into the nearest elevator. Once the door closed and they were alone, Derek crowded Stiles against the wall of the elevator, so close that Stiles could feel Derek’s slight stubble brush against his cheek tauntingly. “You overthink everything. I live here because my prestigious grandmother used to live here, and when she unfortunately died five years ago she left this place to me in her will.” There was a brush of lips against Stiles throat and he smiled at the feeling. “It is such a fancy place because my grandmother used to be quite the famous singer back in the day, and the doorman’s name is Charles. He has a daughter named Raven, two cats and lives together with his husband, Erik, a few blocks away. Quite the lovely family, actually.” Stiles laughed against Derek’s cheek.

“You are something, Derek.”

“Something good?” Derek asked honestly, fingers tracing over his hipbones on top of Stiles’ suit pants.

Stiles bit his bottom lip, eyes taking in the sight of Derek in a tuxedo with a hungry gaze. “Something very good.” He caught Derek’s lips with his own in a small kiss that ended up with Stiles pressed harder against one of the walls of the elevator with a half opened shirt, and Derek with a loose tie around his neck and flushed skin.

“Are you absolutely sure you’re not alternative a) posh, or alternative b) a royal, though? Those are the only two options if you have a door-” Stiles’ sentence ended in a small yelp as Derek brushed his hands slowly over the backside of his wrist and how did he know that was Stiles’ ticklish spot?!

With a small _ping!_ the elevator signalized that it had reached the top floor of the building and Derek took his hand, leading him towards the nearest door on the left. Stiles hadn’t even realized the elevator had moved. “That was fast,” Stiles marked.

Derek reached for the inner pocket of his suit jacket and retrieved his keys. It wasn’t until Derek was about to open the door that Stiles actually realized what they were going to do. A sudden and sharp burst of panic came over him because what if it was too soon? Sure, he’d had his share of one night stands and they had been great at the time, but with Derek it was different. A simple one night stand, even if it was with Derek, wouldn’t cut it for him. He wanted the whole ‘waking up in the morning and sharing weird morning breath kisses, cuddling on the couch on a rainy day in their pyjamas and holding hands in public’ ordeal. He only hoped Derek wanted the same, which, judging from how he had painted a picture of him and put it up for everyone to see, it looked like he did.

“Do you-” he started, but Derek had lead him inside his apartment and pushed him against the door, closing it with Stiles’ body. The room was completely dark except from some light sifting through the windows from the bright winter night outside. “Hi,” Stiles said.

“Hi,” Derek said back, sounding almost breathless despite the fact that they’d done nothing but kiss so far. Then there was a moment where all Stiles could hear was their mingled breaths from standing so close and then Stiles – Derek – _one of them_ moved and there was no space left between their bodies except their clothes and Stiles’ face was full of Derek and it _felt so good_.

Derek pushed him harder against the door until Stiles’ back was completely pressed against the hard surface. Their lips were still locked and Stiles would have felt like he could stay in that moment forever if it hadn’t been for the door handle pressing uncomfortably into his back which gave him a new goal: relocate to the nearest comfortable surface. With a push of his body he moved them towards the place where he thought he saw the silhouette of a couch in the darkness but ended up tripping over something – probably air, with his luck – and Derek and Stiles fell onto the floor with a _dung_! A small sound came from underneath him where Derek had fallen. “Ouch,” he stated.

“Sorry!” Stiles exclaimed.  “Are you okay?”

“Actually, my face hurts.” Stiles tried to look at Derek but couldn’t really see any expressions in the dark. “Kiss it better for me?”

“You jerk!” Stiles punched him playfully in the arm. “Well, at least I had a soft landing,” he mused.

Derek caught him off guard and turned them around so that Stiles was the one with the weight on top of him. Not that he minded. “Yeah, I bet you did.” Before Stiles could think of a smart come-back Derek began to move his hips slowly on top of him, grinding down on the very willing body below him. Derek was a warm pressure of hard muscle and soft skin above him, and Stiles couldn’t help but to think that this was the sort of feeling which could last a lifetime.

“That’s more like it,” Stiles said with a moan as Derek managed to press them together just right.

“You know, we should really get rid of these fucking clothes,” Derek said mid-grind, sounding out of breath.

“And move this to your bed,” Stiles contributed.

Derek’s only answer was a groan and he made another one once Stiles slipped one wandering hand down Derek’s back and into his underwear. “What are you doing?” Stiles’ hand gripped one butt cheek hard and Derek moaned into his neck.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Stiles pressed a finger against Derek’s hole and Derek grinded down hard on Stiles’ crotch in response.

“F-fingering me?” Derek stuttered as Stiles slipped the tip of his finger inside.

“Undressing you,” Stiles whispered, having taken the opportunity to push Derek’s pants and underwear roughly down his thighs.

“God _damn_ it, Stiles.” Derek’s following groan was like music to his ears.

“Bed. Now,” Stiles commanded.

“Yes, sir.”

Derek stood up, looking like a sight for sore eyes in the dark with his underwear and pants pushed down to his thighs and hard cock resting against his belly. Before Stiles could gather the strength to stand up himself, Derek bent down and lifted him up with two steady hands. Stiles immediately wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist. “This is a comfortable position,” Stiles observes. “Think you’re strong enough to fuck me like this, big boy?” Stiles whispered heatedly into his ear. Derek’s answer was to nearly drop him to the ground.

“I guess we’ll have to see,” Derek said once he’d gotten a proper grip on Stiles again.

“I guess we will.”

Derek moved him across what Stiles guessed was his living room and opened a door to the left. Stiles could barely see a thing in the dark, but Derek apparently could because a moment later Stiles was suddenly dropped onto the bed. “Now this is more like it.” Stiles stretched out on the soft bed. Derek joined him, turning on a light on the nightstand first so that the room was filled with a soft light. The sight of Derek with his pants and briefs dragged down around his ankles, his tanned and darkly haired skin flushed in several places while he looked down at Stiles like he was _blessed_ somehow, by having Stiles beneath him. Well, it made Stiles want to take and _take_ and give back in twofold.

“I want you naked. Now,” Derek commanded, or more like growled, and Stiles didn’t have any warning before Derek straddled his thighs and began the task of removing Stiles’ shirt properly.

“Someone’s eager,” Stiles teased, but he was just as frantically removing layer of layer from Derek’s body. When he came to his shoes he threw them away from the bed, and it made a small crashing sound. “Oops,” Stiles winced. “Sorry ‘bout that. Bill me.”

Derek gave a small laugh but it sounded desperate. “It’s fine, just come here.” Stiles shifted his body so he was laying on top of Derek, his feet resting between Derek’s open ones. And _hello!_ That was skin. That was very naked skin. Derek’s gloriously warm skin. Stiles thought this might have been the best decision he had ever made and he said so out loud, groaning the words into Derek’s neck as he ground his hips down on Derek’s body.

“Same here,” came from Derek, and Stiles felt himself swoon for a second. “I just – I need you. Closer. More.”

“I need you too.” Derek’s legs were wrapped around Stiles’ waist, and Stiles felt a hand move on top of his ass, pushing his dick harder down against Derek’s. They were a sticky mess, both leaking pre-come from the crown and grinding on each other like a couple of animals in heat.

“God damn it, Stiles!” Stiles looked down at Derek, saw him biting his lip, his eyes closed in pleasure. “Stop.”

Stiles immediately stopped his movements and looked Derek in the eye. “Did I do something?”

“God no, I just really need to get my mouth on your cock.” Soft fingers touched his hips. “Can I suck you off?”

Stiles was unable to answer for a moment, just staring at the man below him. Stiles was one lucky bastard. “Fuck yes. How do you want me?”

Derek seemed to really contemplate this. “However you’ll have me, but for now on your back will suffice.” Stiles couldn’t move fast enough, turning around and lying down with the flailing of his limbs.

Soft kisses trailed down from his neck and ended right above his crotch. Stiles looked down to see Derek nosing his patch of pubic hair before placing a chaste kiss on the crown of his cock. He felt his cock twitch embarrassingly in response. “You are so beautiful,” Derek whispered in almost awe before he gave Stiles a glance and licked experimentally across the head of his cock which was already flushed pink.

“Mmh!” His cock became completely engulfed in searing heat as Derek took him into his mouth, slowly at first to get his mouth used to the stretch of a cock. Stiles forced himself not to close his eyes so that he could see the way Derek was sighing around cock with his eyes closed like the taste of Stiles was all he craved in life. “ _God yes_ – I mean, so are you. God, have you _looked_ in a mirror lately, you look like a Greek god.” Stiles felt Derek honest to god _smirk_ around his cock and that was the last straw. His hands moved to Derek’s dark hair, pressing down just so that Derek understood that he should stop teasing Stiles and get to work already.

Apparently Derek was quick on the uptake because with a small moan he quickened his pace, moving his mouth almost completely off Stiles’ cock and then sucking it down again to the base, stroking the little he couldn’t get in his mouth with the tight grip of his hand. Stiles couldn’t help it; he twisted in the sheets, back arching upwards and hips leading his cock in and out of Derek’s mouth in lean movements that made sweat start to build on his body. The slick gurgling and sometimes near chocking sounds Derek let out as Stiles slowly fucked the heat of Derek’s mouth made Stiles’ body shudder, and the fact that Derek looked like he was fucking honored or something by getting to suck Stiles’ cock made Stiles pick up the pace, holding one hand gently in Derek’s dark locks while his hips pistoled his cock further into Derek’s mouth.

And Derek? He just bent over him, taking all Stiles had to give him.

“ _J-Jesus_ , Derek.” Stiles was a sweaty mess under Derek’s ministrations. The hand that wasn’t holding onto Derek’s hair and Derek’s sinful mouth moving up and down on Stiles’ cock was clenching the sheets in pleasure. His eyes were caught between watching where Derek was slightly choking on his cock, trying to get more of the length into his mouth, and where he was lazily jacking off with the hand not pressing down on Stiles’ hips. “You look fucking fantastic stuffed full of my cock, fuck,” Stiles started saying with a rough voice, his brain barely aware of the words coming out of his mouth. “I’ve thought about you like this, but – _fuck_ – you are so much better here, now, with me. God, _your mouth_ Derek. You love this, don’t you? Love taking a cock deep down your mouth and choking on it. I can see it on you, you’re enjoying this so much and I love it. Love how open and, _fuck_ , so responsive.”

He tried to hold it off as long as possible if only for the feeling of having Derek’s mouth on him longer, but Derek was just too much with his sinful mouth and the sounds he made around Stiles’ cock. “God, I’m close.” He thrust his hips upwards, gaining more slick warmth around his cock. Derek looked him in the eyes as he bobbed up and down and stray drops of spit and precome ran out of his mouth and down his chin and fuck. The man was a filthy mess and Stiles loved it. His body felt like it was on fire. Only a few more thrusts and he’d be there–

There was a slick _pop_ , and then the heat around his cock disappeared, replaced by the chilled temperature of the room. “Wha-?” Stiles asked incoherently. He removed his hand from Derek’s hair, leaving behind a messy patch of hair. “Why did you stop?”

Derek looked wrecked from where he rested on his knees on top of Stiles’ legs, his skin flushed and lips wet. He was panting, taking in air quickly. Just thinking about what that mouth had just done to him made his hard cock twitch slightly. Derek’s eyes caught the movement and smiled. Bending down he said, “You can’t come until you’re inside me,” with a voice that literally sounded fucked out, and licked a stripe down Stiles’ throat.

“Aaah” Stiles moaned, very certain of the fact that he would probably come before getting inside of Derek if the man kept that up. “Lube, we need lube. And condoms.”

Derek stretched his arm out to open the top drawer of his left nightstand, searching around in the drawer with his hand while looking down at Stiles.

“You know, that would be much easier if you’d just look where you’re searching,” Stiles commented in what he thought was a calm way, but his body was telling Derek to just hurry the fuck up.

Derek didn’t even seem to think before saying the words, “I don’t want to stop watching you, even for a second.”

Stiles closed his eyes. “God damn it you need to find those condoms before I fucking come just by your words alone.”

There was another long drawn groan from Derek and then he said “Got it!” A couple of condoms and a bottle of lube was dropped beside Stiles on the bed.

“Let’s switch positions,” Stiles suggested and Derek complied, taking Stiles’ place lying down on his back. Stiles’ had to take a moment to steady his cock by squeezing firmly at the base, willing himself not to come at the heavenly sight of Derek laying spread in front of him, all for his taking. He grabbed the bottle of lube, holding it a moment in his hands before asking, “Do you want to do it or should I?”

“You,” Derek said immediately, spreading his legs to make room for Stiles.

Flicking the cap of the bottle, stiles knelt between Derek’s legs and squeezed some lube onto his fingers, warming it. “You are surreal,” Stiles said as he pressed the thumb of his finger against Derek’s opening, spreading the lube around but not quite pressing inside. Though he knew how desperate Derek was – how desperate they both were – he wanted to draw it out as long as possible. He wanted Derek to forget every name he knew except for Stiles’. This man had painted a picture of their bond for the whole world to see, and Stiles wanted him to know how much the gesture meant to him. Sometimes, the right way of communication wasn’t in words, but rather in action.

The teasing movement continued slowly, and he couldn’t help but to admire the way Derek’s hole opened up when he pressed hard enough to almost slip the tip of his finger inside, an inviting sight that Stiles couldn’t help but to fully take advantage of. “I wish you could see this, Derek. Your hole is greedily trying to take my fingers inside like you can’t stand being empty anymore.”

A pleading sound came from Derek and Stiles didn’t want to stretch it out any more. They had waited long enough. “Don’t worry baby, I’m going to fill you up real good.” He slid a single finger into Derek and Derek arched his back, pressing the finger further into him with his hips.

“Finally,” Derek sighed in relief. ”I feel like this past week has been a dream – oh _right_ _there_.” Derek’s hips arched up into the air once again, moving in uncontrolled motions up and down the bed. Stiles had two slicked fingers inside him now and he moved them around, spreading Derek open to make room for his cock. He was growing impatient and felt like his cock would combust if he didn’t get inside Derek soon, but he knew that he needed to get him properly ready first.

“If this is a dream then I don’t want to wake up,” Stiles said with all honestly. Derek looked up at him with glazed eyes and an amazed expression and Stiles swore to himself that no one had ever looked as inhumanly good as Derek did in that moment. With Stiles’ fingers inside of him, his flushed skin covered in a light layer of sweat, hair looking ravished and _Derek’s face_.

Derek was looking at Stiles like he was the only source of water in the entire Sahara desert, and Stiles felt himself, in that very moment, beginning to fall for the man in front of him.

The words were out of his mouth before he could filter them. “Christ, I’m completely gone on you, you know that?”

Surprisingly, Derek didn’t say anything. He simply smiled completely goofily and stretched out on the bed properly, his head resting on his crossed arms. “Do your worst.”

 _Oh I will_ , Stiles thought.

He squeezed more lubricant from the bottle and applied it messily to three fingers, bending over Derek’s body to kiss him sloppily as he pressed them into the tightness of Derek’s hole.

“Mmm,” Derek hummed, eyes closing in bliss.

Once he felt Derek relax around his fingers, he decided that they had put this off for far too long and reached over to take a condom in hand.

When he saw what was drawn on the condom wrapping he started laughing. Derek opened his eyes and looked up at him with a curious expression. “What are you laughing about?”

Stiles showed him the condom. “Did you really draw a winky face on your condom?”

Derek groaned – this time in frustration, not in pleasure – and dragged a hand through his hair. “It’s my friends. They were hoping I’d get laid tonight, and that was their idiotic way of encouraging me.”

“Well, it worked,” Stiles winked, ripping the condom wrapping open with his teeth and rolling it over his cock. He grabbed the open lube bottle and squeezed some more into his hand, coating it over his cock. Even though he knew that the lube on the condom would suffice, if there was one thing he had learned when it came to sex, it was that there was no such thing as too much lube. He shuffled closer to Derek, bending over him and giving him a chaste kiss as he dragged his cock over Derek’s opening, teasing. “Ready?” Stiles asked, and Derek’s answer was a roll of his eyes and his arms coming around Stiles’ ass, pressing the head of Stiles’ cock inside of him. “I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Stiles groaned into the hollow of Derek’s throat, nipping at the skin once his brain worked properly again.

“ _Yes_ , just – just get inside me now, Stiles, or else-” Stiles didn’t let him finish, instead pushed in the rest of his length with a sharp thrust, and Derek’s ass clenched wonderfully around him.

“Like that?” Stiles asked heatedly into Derek’s ear while Derek groaned underneath him.

“ _Yes_. Just like that.”

Stiles tried to take it slow to begin with, to squeeze every moan and little sound out of Derek that he could get his hands on, but it was all so much; the heat of Derek around his cock; the moans they both let out when Stiles hit that spot just right and Derek’s nails dug into his back, creating marks that would probably be there for days, and Stiles loved it. He loved how Derek wasn’t afraid to tell Stiles how he liked it, if he should go faster, change the angle of his thrusts just slightly so that Derek started crying out underneath him, legs wrapped around Stiles loosely just over his ass, pressing Stiles further and harder into Derek with each movement like everything Stiles gave him wasn’t enough and he just wanted Stiles to consume him.

Stiles cried out in tune with him, fucking Derek harder than he’d imagined for their first time together, but there was just something animalistic about their desperate need to be close together. He needed to feel Derek come undone beneath him, just as he needed himself to come undone by Derek alone. Derek certainly didn’t seem to mind, judging by all the sinful sounds coming out of his pretty mouth, and neither did Stiles. Far from it – if he could only fuck Derek for the rest of his life he would live an ecstatic life.

Stiles had never felt anything like it before, but he guessed it was a feeling that started with the letter “l” and ended with an “e”. Four syllable word, straight across. _Love_.

The realization hit him straight in the chest, stopping his movements for a moment. Derek looked up at him in blissed out wonder. “Why did you stop? What’s wrong?”

The legs around Stiles’ back were removed and Derek raised his back slightly up from the bed, supporting his body with one hand on the mattress and one hand reached out to touch Stiles’ face softly. As he did so he felt Derek clench slightly around his cock and Stiles closed his eyes at the feeling, needing a moment. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said to Derek’s now slightly concerned face. “I just realised something, that’s all.”

“And what’s that?”

Stiles looked into Derek’s eyes, saw how open and honest they were, looking at Stiles as if he was the sun, and he knew that he wasn’t making a fool out of himself when he said “I think I might possibly be in love with you.”

When Derek didn’t do anything but stare at him for a good half minute, Stiles began to rethink his judgement call. Then, a hand came around his neck and dragged the both of them back down on the bed, and Derek was kissing Stiles mercilessly and overpoweringly, like he’d die if he stopped even for one second. One hand came around Stiles’ ass and pressed Stiles’ cock further into Derek, and just like that they were back at it again.

“No one has ever said that to me before and really meant it, but you do. You really fucking do,” Derek confessed in between frantic kisses, Stiles’cock moving out and in of Derek in rapid movements which echoed through the room in a symphony of raw sounds and cries.

Stiles nodded, but wasn’t sure if Derek saw it so he started chanting “yes, yes, yes, yes” as he knelt by Derek’s open legs and slipped out of Derek slightly, moving Derek’s legs where he wanted them; one leg hitched over Stiles’ shoulder, the other one around Stiles’ waist. Both of his hands went around Derek’s ass where he lifted his ass slightly up from the air so that they were perfectly aligned. His own muscles strained from the position, but he wanted to feel Derek like this; held up and open for taking. Stiles’ hands were gripping Derek’s ass roughly, bringing his cock deeply into Derek with sharp slaps of skin against skin. Derek’s muscular thighs were trembling around his shoulder and waist and the man could probably have strangled him with those strong legs but instead he used them to bring Stiles closer. The thought brought a newly found rigor to Stiles’ fucking.

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles uttered weakly against Derek’s open lips, hips gaining speed with every movement.

If Derek’s cock was wet before, that was nothing compared to how it was leaking now, beads of pre-come running down the shaft where it laid neglected and flushed against Derek’s stomach. Stiles wanted to touch it, to worship it, but he didn’t have enough hands to do it while holding Derek up the way he did.

“Touch yourself, Derek,” Stiles said, and Derek didn’t have to be told twice. The second he got a hand around his cock he closed his eyes in a groan. Stiles could see that Derek tried to use some of his pre-come to slick his hand up with, but Stiles knew from experience that it wouldn’t be enough. “Give me your hand,” Stiles ordered, stopping his thrusts, and Derek did what he said without hesitation. He looked Derek straight in the eyes and gave him a smug grin as he licked the palm of Derek’s hand, making sure to get it wet enough. Derek watched with his mouth slightly open and his eyes transfixed on where Stiles took each finger deeply into his mouth. Stiles finished sucking on one of Derek’s fingers with a slick pop. “There. Try it now.”

The sound Derek made when his wet hand wrapped around his cock gave Stiles chills. “That’s better, isn’t it? God, Derek. You look so good like this, stretched wide around my cock,” Stiles commented roughly as he began moving inside of Derek again, eyes focused on where his cock disappeared into Derek’s ass over and over again, committing the picture to memory. His right hand would certainly be busy enough for the coming weeks.

Derek didn’t answer with words, but he didn’t need to. His hurried breathing, sweaty skin and face morphed in pleasure said it all, and Stiles was right there with him. Derek was an inferno of warmth and wetness around him, and Stiles wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep going.

“Fuck,” Stiles gasped into the sweaty skin of Derek’s throat. Laying bent over Derek like this, still holding up his ass with a tight grip so that he could fuck right into that wet heat, it was indescribable. He knew they were both two sweaty trembling messes and he loved it, licked at Derek’s skin and cherished the man beneath him who was giving him everything he had. Some possessive part of him saw red because _he_ did this to Derek. He made the unbelivably talented man who painted Stiles simply from memory, arch and twist with pleasure. Him, not anyone else.

“I’m so close, Derek.”

Derek dragged Stiles harder inside him with the help of his leg and shifted Stiles head so that they were kissing again, tongues battling for dominance, and the sounds! The sounds that sounded through the room were insane. The constant smacking of balls against skin as Stiles drilled into Derek, their mouths meeting in filthy, sloppy kisses that were completely uncoordinated but still felt so good. Then there were the sounds they were both making; their groans and whimpers, Stiles’ loud hitch in breath as Derek’s ass tightened impossibly around him. The bed was even making small creaking noises every time Stiles gave a hard thrust, making it easy to figure out what was going on in the room. Stiles felt slightly sorry for any of Derek’s neighbours that were home at the moment. They sure were getting an earful.

Derek’s left hand was a steady pressure against his neck, while the other was still around Derek’s cock, stroking it with desperate movements of his hand. “Don’t come yet. Keep fucking me,” Derek growled the order from underneath Stiles, and Stiles complied with a whine.

His arms were starting to feel the strain from holding the lower part of Derek’s body up so he lowered Derek back on the bed. His hands left deep creases behind on Derek’s butt. Stiles quickly rearranged them with Derek laying properly on his back, both of his legs spread close to his body so that the front of his thighs were bent upwards enough that they just barely touched his stomach. Stiles gripped the back of Derek’s thighs, used them to fold Derek’s legs further into himself until he was almost laying in a fatal position on his back. He looked smaller like this, Stiles thought. More vulnerable. The position allowed him to reach even deeper inside Derek, and he quickly thanked whoever existed above that he got to have this.

Derek was more vocal now than ever. His loud gasps and whimpers lit a fire inside Stiles that made him want to continue fucking Derek forever. Stiles’ body was covering Derek’s completely and his grip on Derek’s thighs made it easy to fuck into Derek’s open hole.

He was moving quicker and harder now, each of his thrusts shaking the bed against the wall. Stiles could feel his orgasm sneaking up on him but he remembered what Derek said and he wanted to do good, just this once, so he ignored the feeling and focused on Derek instead.

“Is that how you want it? You want me to fuck you harder?” Derek whimpered underneath him, releasing the hand around Stiles’ neck to grab the bed sheet with a hand, trying to hold onto it for support. “I bet you love this, don’t you? Love getting filled up, fucked so hard that you can feel it for days afterwards.” When Derek didn’t answer he took a firmer hold of the back of Derek’s thighs and used the new position to pistol himself harder into Derek, making him gasp out loud for breath. “Don’t you?”

“Yes, _god_ _Stiles_. Yes! I love it,” Derek confessed in a desperate breath, leaning up to chase Stiles’ lips with his own, and Stiles melted at the touch, came undone by Derek’s words.

They were both crying out for each other now, their names adding to the long list of sounds echoing throughout the room. “You’re perfect, Derek. So fuckin’ perfect. Could fuck you like this for hours and you’d beg me not to stop.” Every hard movement of Stiles hips echoed in a loud, almost wounded noise from one or both of them. Stiles drank up every last sound Derek made, heating up at Derek’s words in between.

“Wanted you like this for a week,” Derek started, voice rough. “Since I first saw you and you fucking kissed me in front of everyone without warning. You were so ridiculous and sexy and everything I wanted, then you left and you – ah!” Derek moaned out at Stiles’ cock hitting him just right.

“And then what?” Stiles asked tauntingly, wanting to know Derek’s side of the story, but still not slowing his movements.

“I couldn’t get you off my mind, so I painted you and I almost didn’t eat or sleep for days. Then you show up at my exhibition, looking so good I wanted to suck you off right there and then, all the other people be damned.”

Stiles mouthed at Derek’s neck, biting down hard, savouring the taste of sweat in his mouth, Derek’s words still echoing in his ears. “Come for me, Derek,” Stiles whispered in between whimpers, taking a hold of Derek’s hips until he was using all of his force to fuck into Derek. Derek was taking most of his weight now but it didn’t seem like he’d noticed it at all. Stiles loved that Derek was strong enough to take Stiles’ weight on top of him.

A shudder ran through Derek’s body and Stiles sought out Derek’s eyes just in time to see them close as his expression twisted into one of bliss and he shouted Stiles’ name and came all over his chest. His ass clenched around Stiles like it was its only purpose in the world, and that and Derek’s sounds brought him over the edge, mouth closing over Derek’s neck in a bite as he came inside Derek, filling the condom up.

Stiles slumped down on Derek, chest heaving against Derek’s while their heavy breaths filled the air. There was silence between them as they both caught their breath, then they looked at each other and in the next moment they were laughing, eyes filling with tears as they barely held it together. “We are completely ridiculous. Should have done that a week ago,” Stiles confessed, lying on top of Derek with his now softening cock still inside him.

“Yes, we should have,” Derek agreed, still catching his breath from the sex and the laughter. “And we are so doing it again. You felt amazing. You _are_ amazing, Stiles,” Derek said with a small yawn, the day’s events finally catching up with his body, making his limbs feel like jelly.

“Says you,” Stiles smiled tiredly. “You have the ass of Adonis, man. I will write poems about that ass. Well, I can’t really write poems but I will learn to write poems just to write them about your ass.” Stiles held onto the condom at the base of his cock and slipped out of Derek with a slick sound, making Derek groan at the emptiness left behind. He threw the condom somewhere, only hoped it didn’t land on something valuable.

“And your nipples,” he added, kissing them slowly, lazily, tongue tracing around the puckered nipples and Derek moved underneath him, let out a tired groan of approval. “Not to mention your mouth.” His lips were on Derek’s the next second and Stiles sighed from the pure happiness he felt from being together with Derek. All he needed now was a nice cuddle and some well deserved sleep and then he could die a happy man. “All right, who am I kidding, I’m going to write poems about your entire body,” Stiles confessed with a grin and Derek smacked his ass lightly, laughing.

“Shut it,” Derek murmured, cheeks beginning to flush.

Stiles laughed back, enjoying the flustered side of Derek. “I’m serious, I’m going to call it _Derek Hale: a series of poems about Derek’s bum_ , written by Stiles Stilinski. The world will be thrilled.”

Derek pinched Stiles’ ass from where Stiles laid so comfortingly on top of Derek, and Stiles mewled in response, battering Derek’s hand away. “Stiles Stilinski, huh?”

Stiles looked at Derek questioningly, fingers tracing patterns on Derek’s chest. “Yes?”

“I just never knew your last name, that’s all.”

“Oh, really?” An arm came around Stiles’ back, holding his naked body to Derek’s warm chest. Stiles snuggled into him. “It’s weird, it feels like I’ve known you forever, yet we’ve only spent a couple of hours together. Is that normal?” Stiles asked, mind and body in complete bliss as he laid on top of Derek, head resting on Derek’s shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Derek confessed, kissing the top of Stiles’ head with affection. “I just know that I feel the exact same way.”

Stiles moved his body slightly up so that he could give Derek a kiss, but when he did he felt Derek’s come beginning to dry on his stomach. He knew all too well the feeling of waking up with dried come on his skin, and was not a very good one. “One moment,” Stiles whispered, giving Derek a lazy kiss on the lips before rolling over him so that he ended up by the side of the bed, moving his feet over to the edge and walking over to the second door in the room which he guessed was the door to Derek’s bathroom. As he stepped inside the light immediately turned on by itself – motion sensors, he noticed – and the bright light momentarily blinded him. Once he’d gotten over the bright light, he grabbed the nearest cloth and turned on the faucet, making sure it was good and wet.

He caught his reflection in the mirror above the sink and what looked back made him smile. Stiles looked fucked, there was no other word for it. His skin was flushed, his hair was a mess, and there were hickeys on his neck which he didn’t recall getting. There was still a small layer of sweat on his body that glistened in the bathroom light and his back was slightly read from Derek’s fingers digging into it, holding on tightly

Stiles was grinning as he walked back, and his smile broadened when he saw Derek laying on top of the comforter, still naked and watching Stiles without a care in the world. Stiles knelt over Derek, sitting down on Derek’s legs while using the cloth to lazily clean away Derek’s smeared come from Derek’s stomach, then his own. He traced it over Derek’s hole and Derek twitched underneath him.

“What?” Stiles asked, stopping.

Derek smiled up at him. “Nothing, I’m just a bit sore right there.” Stiles could feel himself frowning at the thought of having caused Derek pain, no matter how much they were enjoying themselves as they were doing it. “Hey, hey,” Derek whispered in a worried tone, sitting up in the bed so that he was face to face with Stiles. His hand caressed Stiles’ cheek and Stiles leaned into the touch. “You didn’t hurt me Stiles. It’s a good kind of sore. The best, in fact. And I love it, because every time I sit down or move the next couple of days I’m going to feel it and I’m going to be reminded of you fucking me so hard that I almost forgot my own name at one point.”

Stiles bit his lip groaning at the image and looked at Derek, cheeks flushed even more than before. “Okay?” Derek asked.

“Okay,” Stiles confirmed, threw the cloth to the floor and pressed Derek down into the bed again, grabbing the comforter from beneath them and covering them up. Derek placed a hand on the lower part of Stiles’ back, and Stiles would love to move it further down, to feel Derek’s fingers press against his opening, but he felt himself starting to fall asleep.

His last thought was that he was meant to be there, laying on top of Derek. It felt like coming home.

 

**********

 

Derek woke up groggily and came to the conclusion that he was still dreaming, and that the tongue he felt licking his ass open from where he laid spread on his stomach was just a part of the very realistic dream he was still having. He remembered the gallery exhibition, seeing Stiles there, something about Kate coming to fuck everything up, but the police got to her just in time. He had to leave Stiles alone for a second to explain to his family and friends what had happened, and when he found Stiles again he was standing in front of the painting that Derek had painted of him from memory. The rest was kind of a blur up until the point where they went back to Derek’s and Stiles fucked him through the mattress.

Now he could feel a wet tongue tracing around his hole, and he was pretty sure that he was still dreaming, because the entire situation was too ridiculous for it not to be anything but a dream. Therefore he let himself dream on, thinking it could do him no harm; it was his dream after all.

He groaned, a loud and filthy sound, and arched his ass upwards, closer to the talented tongue.

“Finally, you’re awake,” Stiles’ voice said above him, and damn, if it didn’t sound just like him. “I was beginning to think you might not wake from by my tongue alone. You’re a heavy sleeper, Derek.”

Derek groaned against the pillow. “’m not awake. Still dreamin’.”

Stiles laughed against the curve of Derek’s ass. “You dream of me often, then?”

“Since I met you. But never this real,” Derek confessed sleepily, eyes still closed. If this was a dream he never wanted to wake up.

“Oh,” Stiles said thoughtfully. “Then you just lay there and sleep and I’ll do all the work, okay?”

“M’kay.” Derek moaned at the feeling of a warm hand stroking down his back and then landing on his ass, spreading it to reveal his tight hole.

“I’m going to make you feel so good, Derek,” Stiles promised in a hushed whisper and then Derek felt the warm tongue against his hole again, first licking around the opening and then opening him up excruciatingly slowly like he wanted to enjoy the feeling. A shock of pleasure hit him and he twitched on the bed, both of his hands going up to take a hold of the sheets, holding on for dear life as Stiles opened him up with his tongue.

Derek was starting to wake up properly and dear god, that really was Stiles above him. He was always above him – in his dreams, in real life – making him feel like he was exploding with pleasure.

“Stiles!” Derek shouted out into the open air as he felt a lubed finger press up against Stiles’ tongue inside of him. “Fuck, Stiles, that feels so good,” he whined and pressed his ass up against Stiles’ tongue and finger. He started moving his hips up and down, fucking down on Stiles’s tongue, but suddenly stopped because he didn’t know if Stiles was okay with that.

Stiles seemed to understand why he stopped and moved his face out of Derek’s ass, taking a hold of Derek’s head from where it was stuffed into the pillow and turning it so that Derek was looking at him. Derek was met with a thoroughly flushed Stiles who had red hickey’s on his neck from last night’s activities, his hair a complete mess. The sight made Derek’s stomach turn possessively.

“Fuck back on my tongue, Derek,” he whispered and gave Derek a sloppy kiss, their tongues exploring each other’s mouths. Derek tried to remind himself that Stiles’ tongue had just been inside his ass so it should probably be weird for them to kiss after, but he felt no shame, just pure want running through his body, making his cock rock hard where it was pressed between the mattress and Derek’s stomach. “I know you want it, and I need it too. Need you to come undone by my tongue and fingers.” He sucked a hickey into the back of Derek’s neck and Derek almost came by Stiles’ words alone. That man was going to kill him one day if he kept talking like that. “Can you do that for me?”

“God, yes. I need you, Stiles. You feel so good inside me, above me, _everywhere_. I just–”

Stiles interrupted him with a comforting hand running down his back. “Shhh, I’ve got you, Derek. I know exactly what you need – what we both need.” Derek melted into the sheets at his words, and he knew they were true. Stiles would take care of him just as he would take care of Stiles.

“There we go,” Stiles comforted from above him, hands stroking his thighs in a warming touch. “Spread your legs a bit more, yes just like that.” Derek felt Stiles kiss his ass, just a small touch of lips against skin. “God, you’re so good, Derek. So good for me,” Stiles praised and then his tongue was against his opening again, licking over it once then moving his tongue in a come hither motion that made Derek arch his back and groan in to the pillow. He started the same movements from before, moving his hips up and down, fucking down on Stiles’ tongue until a finger joined in, and before he knew it he had two fingers and Stiles’ tongue opening him up one slick stroke at the time.

He realized that he was a sweaty mess under Stiles’ ministrations and that the sounds he was making were nothing short of lewd, but it felt so fucking good to be properly rimmed. It had been years since he was last rimmed, and that was nowhere as good as what Stiles was doing. A glance behind him revealed Stiles’ head disappearing between his ass, one of his hands holding Derek’s cheeks apart, the other snuck around his own cock, bringing himself pleasure as Derek was laid bare before him. The sight made Derek’s heart stop for a second. “Jesus christ, Stiles, you look do good like this. You love doing this, don’t you? You crave how I react to you, love opening me up for your cock.”

There was a whimper behind him and he turned his head slighty to the left, saw Stiles shaking his head in a yes motion while he kept fucking Derek with his tongue and fingers. Stiles hand was tightening around his own flushed and leaking cock, and he knew that Stiles had to fuck him soon before they both came. “Mmm, that’s what I thought. As much as I’d like to come only from – _ah_ – your rimming, you should really fuck me now.”

“I’m one step ahead of you.” Stiles bit his left ass cheek and licked over the mark as the fingers were removed from his ass, leaving behind an empty hole needing desperately to be filled.

A couple of heartbeats later he was there, he was _finally_ there; hard and slicked up, a long and steady press as he pushed his way inside of Derek. Derek felt every inch of Stiles around him, and it made him groan, pressing his head into the pillow. His body felt slightly exposed where he was bent on the bed, his ass arched up in the air with his knees supporting him, upper body resting on the mattress. He loved it, though. Loved it because he knew that position always made the cock inside of him hit that exact spot that made his toes curl in pleasure, and he couldn’t wait for Stiles to take him like this.

“ _Yes,_ ” Stiles drew out in a shaky breath, warm hands rubbing up and down the shape of Derek’s ass, spreading his cheeks further apart. Derek didn’t understand what Stiles was doing, couldn’t concentrate on anything but the feeling of Stiles’ length filling him up so good. A thumb pressed around his opening where Stiles was attached, almost as a reminder of what was happening. Not that he needed one. Gods no. He was sure he wouldn’t ever forget the feeling of Stiles inside of him. Derek had many dildos, but all of them failed in comparison to Stiles’ cock.

“You look so good, Derek, so fuckin’ good,” Stiles said slowly behind him where he was kneeling on the bed. The thumb pressed against the rim of his hole and Stiles’ cock, and he felt the exact moment the tip of the thumb slipped inside of him, stretching him even further.

“Ah!” Derek whimpered, hands clenching the sheets uncontrollably. He could feel his cheeks flushing the way they often did when he was embarrassed or really flustered. In this case it was the latter.

“God,” Stiles cursed, and Derek moved his head slightly to look behind him and saw Stiles staring down at where they were connected, his gaze mesmerized as Stiles moved his hips lazily back and forwards. Derek wondered how he looked like through Stiles’ eyes: bent over, back arched, and his face pressed into one of the pillows while Stiles’ cock filled him up, one wandering thumb adding to the stretch. The very thought made his cheeks colour.

“H-hurry up already,” Derek insisted with a shaky voice, catching Stiles’ eyes.

Stiles smirked at him. “Patience.”

With an infuriated groan Derek moved his head back on to rest on the pillow again, cursing the man above him for taking so long to give him what they both obviously needed. In the next minute several things happened at once. The finger pressing against his rim was removed, and Derek moved back on Stiles’ cock on instinct, missing the extra stretch. One of Stiles slender hands made its way from his ass to his right shoulder, gripping it with a firmness that made Derek shudder in anticipation. The hand pressed his upper body further into the mattress, while his other hand took a steady hold of the left side of Derek’s waist. Stiles began moving slowly, way too slow for Derek’s liking, but he let Stiles work in his own pace – for now.

With each thrust he sheathed himself completely inside Derek, and then moved back so that only the tip was inside Derek before repeating the motions over and over again until Derek had started sweating, breath hitching as Stiles moved with glacial pace inside him. It was driving him insane and his moans were hoarse as Stiles fucked them out of him, one by one. The worst part was that Stiles kept going even as he felt himself lose control bit by bit, his pace increasing then decreasing as he realized he’d forgotten to go slow.

“Just bloody fuck me already before I turn us both around and ride you into the mattress.” The words were out of him before he could think about it. He couldn’t really think of anything else than the way that Stiles cock barely brushed against his prostate before the touch was gone and then returned a heavy breath later. It was like a torturous circle of almost-gratifying pleasure that never ended and Derek needed to get off. He needed to be fucked properly and he needed to come like it was yesterday. And if Stiles wasn’t going to get with the program already he was hell bent on doing all the work himself.

When nothing happened for a moment Derek sprang into action. “All right,” he affirmed and had just started to get up from his hands and knees when the hands around him tightened and pressed him back into the bed and _fuckin’ finally_ Stiles started moving.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Stiles all but growled into his ear, mouth moving to bite his neck possessively. Derek practically keened at the sting left behind from his teeth, and the feeling of Stiles taking him from behind like he’d wanted all this time: hard and without mercy.

“Yessss,” Derek bellowed, faced pressed into the mattress now. His prostate was being thoroughly pounded by Stiles’ long cock every other heartbeat now, and Derek laid there in infinite bliss, letting Stiles do most of the work, but moving his hips back against Stiles thrusts harshly.

He was so glad that Stiles had decided to get with the program, because there and then he was pretty sure he was feeling the non-dead equivalent of heaven. Going by Stiles’ moaning and lewd words he guessed Stiles was feeling something similar.

“Mmmh, so good. You’re so tight, _god damn it_ , Derek.” Derek had to turn his head around then, had to see Stiles’ face, the way he held onto Derek’s hips with both hands now, sweaty palms against sweaty skin. The soft light of morning shone through the small opening in Derek’s bedroom curtain, lighting up the room. The light let Derek see how Stiles’ eyes were closed, teeth biting on his bottom lip, leaving behind red marks.

“Open your eyes and look at me, Stiles.”

Two hazel coloured eyes looked back at him. Derek didn’t say anything, just gave his lover a smile and moved his head back to rest on the mattress, pleased that Stiles was seeing this, seeing Derek come undone by him. He wanted him to remember every second of it.

The feeling of balls slapping against his skin was constant as Stiles propelled himself in and out of Derek’s with a furious vigour, and his hard cock slapped against his stomach on every thrust, leaving behind a wet patch of pre-come. He hadn’t touched himself yet, wanted Stiles to bring him over the edge with his cock alone, but he was so _so_ close and his cock laid neglected and flushed to the core.

“Ah - _fuck_. You need to – Stiles, _touch me_.” He barely got the words out in between moans. When a warm hand wrapped itself around Derek he could have sobbed from joy. Finally.

Letting out a deep and relieved sigh, he let himself get lost in Stiles’ ministrations. It wasn’t long before he felt himself about to come. “Are – are you–” Stiles stuttered, breath heaving against the back of Derek’s neck.

The hand around his pre-come dripping cock was firm and terribly warm around him, pressing and moving in a sinful way. “Yes!” That was the only warning he got before he saw _fuckin’ stars_ behind his eyelids and cried out Stiles name over and over again. His cock throbbed around Stiles’ hand and he came, the hand tensing around him.

“Fuck,” he exclaimed in a shaky breath, the post-sex bliss making all his bones feel like jelly. He was well aware of his legs failing him, his entire body falling down on the bed, taking Stiles with him. Trying to calm his hurried breathing and fast beating heart took a couple of moments, during which Stiles slipped out of him, still hard, and flipped Derek over on his back.

“Hi,” he whispered lazily, smiling up at Stiles. His lover smiled back down at him, leaning down to giving him a heated kiss. On instinct Derek wrapped a hand around Stiles’ back and pressed their bodies together, sighing in perfect contentment. There was something hard and slick pressing against Derek’s over sensitive cock, and had he had more strength he would probably have made a joke of the “is that a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me” variant, but as it was he didn’t really have the strength for anything. At least, anything but wrapping a hand around Stiles cock to remove the condom and then getting him off the edge, hot and sticky come splattered against Derek’s bare chest as Stiles came with a loud shout.

A warm body relaxed fully on top of his with a soft sigh. Derek held him close and felt their heartbeats echoing through their skin, one fast beat after the other. “Mmmm, that was nice,” Stiles sighed delightedly, one hand resting behind Derek’s neck while he breathed into his neck.

He couldn’t help the small snort he let out and he saw Stiles raise an eyebrow at the sound. “You call that nice? That was fuckin’ fantastic.” Stiles laughed against his skin. “And crazy,” he continued. “I think you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

Stiles smiled at that, giving his neck a small lick of tongue before he settled down on Derek’s chest again. “Good. Nap time?” he suggested with a small yawn.

Derek kissed his temple chastely. “Shower first, then nap time.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, mouth slightly open as he watched Derek’s body when he stood up from the bed on tired legs and walked over to the bathroom.

He stopped just by the door, turned his head around to look at Stiles who was still staring.

“Well, are you coming or not?”

Stiles tripped twice on his way out of bed.


End file.
